


Up The Wolves

by tvparty18



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-04-03 17:44:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4109539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tvparty18/pseuds/tvparty18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Daenerys enacts a Marriage Law, Jon and Sansa must stick together to protect themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot, that's all mine. Everything else belongs to George R.R. Martin, HBO Universe, and anyone else involved in A Song of Ice and Fire and Game of Thrones. The title comes from the song of the same name by the Mountain Goats.

__

“There's bound to be a ghost at the back of your closet no matter where you live. There'll always be a few things, maybe several things that you're going to find really difficult to forgive.”- The Mountain Goats

Sansa knew something was wrong as soon as her secretary buzzed in with a bubbly “Jon Snow on line two” and by the tone of his voice Sansa knew it wasn’t good news. He wanted to come to Winterfell later to talk, said Arya and Bran should be there too. When she started to ask what was going on, he had already hung up.

Sansa and Jon were never close as children. She viewed him much in the same vein her mother had, as an interloper. The story always went that her father had gone to war and come home with Jon. He never offered much explanation as to the boy’s parentage but beseeched Sansa’s mother to raise him as her own. Cat Stark had always assumed Jon had been the result of some wartime fling had by Ned and she kept the boy at a distance. Sansa was always desperate to emulate her mother and followed suit. She remembers Jon being a sullen boy, always slightly nervous around her parents. But he seemed to come out of his shell and be himself around Robb and Arya. Bran and Rickon adored him, still did. By the time Jon’s true parentage was revealed, Cat and Ned had been dead for years. He was a Targaryen, rescued by Ned after Jon’s father had been killed. When Daenerys became Queen she legitimized Jon, claimed him as her nephew, but he refused the name change. He was born a Snow and he’d die a Snow. Arya, Bran, Rickon, and Sansa never saw the difference. To Sansa, he was just a boy she had grown up with. She never realized what a significant part he played in her life until she needed someone and he was the only person left. 

Jon’s memories of Sansa are distant: a young girl begrudgingly sitting next to him in the family Christmas photo, a dash of red hair running past him to get to the lemon cakes first, a shy giggle towards Joffrey Baratheon’s direction. He remembers her laughter, mostly at stupid things. When they were old enough, her friends would giggle whenever Jon walked past but Sansa would always ssssh them. He remembers her standing next to him at the funeral, stoic and brave, but she lost herself for a second and grabbed his hand. She had been with Joffrey then, cruel as he was. There was a bruise on Sansa’s wrist, hidden by the long sleeves of her dress that Jon never asked about because he already knew the answer. He left for the Night’s Watch a few days after Ned, Cat, and Robb were buried. Sansa thought staying with Joffrey would help her keep Winterfell. Jon lost track of her after that until she got tied to Ramsey Bolton.

They talked very rarely as adults. She would extend invitations to him on holidays and birthdays and he checked in on Rickon when he was able. But Jon calling and requesting her council was disconcerting at best. Her suspicions of bad news were confirmed later that evening when she glanced up at Jon as he followed Arya into the kitchen. His eyes had the red ring look of multiple sleepless nights and his hair was disheveled as if he had been constantly ruffling it, a nervous habit of his she remembers from childhood.

He clapped Bran on the shoulder and offered the younger boy a small smile before he let his eyes meet Sansa’s. She was standing across the kitchen island, sipping slowly on a cup of tea. He used to think her weak and prissy and it wasn’t until he heard about everything with Joffrey, saw first hand what had happened with Ramsey and listened, despite himself, to the gossip about Petyr Baelish that he realize just how wrong he was. Not many people knew that he was the one who found her after the fight with Ramsey; Theon had already fled by then. She had held her own, fought for herself and he hated that he was about to put her in that position again.

Sansa cleared her throat when Jon didn’t offer anything but a nod and he startled a little at the noise.

“Sorry,” he fished something out of the pocket of his old leather jacket, “this is for you.” She put down her mug as he handed her the envelope and stayed silent despite every part of him wanting to shout that he tried so hard to stop it.

Jon, Arya, and Bran watched on baited breath as she opened the letter, scanned the first line, and brought a hand to her mouth.

“Read it out loud,” Arya demanded, pulling a beer out of the fridge, with a rare softness to her voice.

Sansa took a breath and met Jon’s eyes. He nodded and she began reading, her voice a cold, monotonous whisper.

“Dear Ms. Sansa Stark,  
In an effort to encourage peace and unity in Westros, I am enacting a royal decree. The tradition of arranged marriages amongst the higher classes of the realm have proved fruitful for thousands of years and it is our duty to uphold the foundation of our kingdom. All unmarried and able members of our community will be provided with a list of suitable spouses to choose from. Each person is encouraged to finalize their match by the end of year. These marriages will reflect the peace efforts of the kingdom and its people. We will be our own united front.” Sansa cleared her throat and glanced at the second page of the letter. “My matches are Denys Arryn, Harrold Hardyng, and Quentyn Martell.”

Bran sat silent in his chair next to Jon, eyeing his eldest sister with pity while Arya let out a string of curses before pounding on the kitchen island and taking a sip of the beer in her other hand before shouting. “This is fucking ridiculous. What kind of bullshit is she playing at?”

Sansa dropped the letter in front of her, her gaze never leaving Jon’s. “You’d have thought they would’ve learned their lesson after the Ramsey incident.” Then she walked silently from the kitchen and out of the house. Arya flinched at the sound of the door slamming.

Bran shook his mind out of its stupor and looked back and forth between Jon and Arya. “Can they really do this to her again? Can’t you do something, Jon?”

“I tried. I appealed to Dany, even tried to get Tyrion to end it. But the queen believes in this shit. She’s doing this to all of us. Well, Sansa and I. Bran you’re still in school so you won’t be obligated and Arya, you’re technically a Braavosi citizen now. I looked into it. It’s just her and I.” 

The trio sat in silence for a minute when the thought presented itself. That was it! Why hadn’t he thought of it before? 

“I need to talk to her.” He spouted before rushing out of the kitchen and following Sansa’s trail. He made his way out the front door, hoping she hadn’t gone far when he was met with the familiar (albeit anti-Sansa) smell of burning tobacco. He walked around to the side of the house to find her sitting against the old stone steps, sucking slowly on a cigarette.

He took a seat next to her and offered her a sad smile, “Didn’t know you smoked.”

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, Jon Snow. Don't tell.”

“Listen, Sansa, I’ve had an idea.” He waited until she exhaled then stole the cigarette from her fingers, took a drag, and handed it back to her.

“Yes?” She wouldn’t meet his eyes as she tapped the filter and watched the ashes fizzle to the ground.

“Well,” he sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “What if we…we married each other?”

Sansa let out a mirthless laugh, “Really, Jon? Like anyone would believe that.”

He shook his head and shimmied a cigarette from the pack sitting between them. He lit it, took a drag, and exhaled before continuing. “We’d make them. Come up with some story: we’ve been together for a while, didn’t want to bring attention to make things weird at home, kept it quiet but now’s as good a time as any to be open.”

She took drag after drag of her cigarette but wouldn’t look at him, just stared out onto her parent's property, the one thing she fought so hard for. “I can’t believe this is happening again. I thought…I thought I had won and they’d leave me alone. I thought this bullshit ended with her becoming queen.” She stubbed out her cigarette on the steps and picked at her thumbnail “Who’d you get matched with?”

“Umm...Nymeria Sand, Asha Greyjoy, and someone else. It doesn’t matter. “

Sansa let out a light chuckle, “Asha is awful. We were at boarding school together.”

Jon stood and handed Sansa his half smoked cigarette, “So’s Harry Hardyng. Think about it. Call me. Remember, Dany keeps tabs.” He walked down the driveway with a small wave and shout to give his love to Bran and Arya and Rickon.

That night was one of many where Jon tossed and turned, restless with worry. When Dany proposed her brilliant idea, his mind immediately went to Sansa. Sansa who was forced into two, almost three marriages before she was 25, all for the sake of politics. She had been married to Ramsey Bolton nearly a year when she called Jon. He had been away at war with the White Walkers when they had gotten married, and had only just learned of her situation a few days before the phone call. Her voice was cold, monotonous, not all that different from the way she sounded as she read the letter. She didn’t have anyone else to call, tried Tyrion but couldn’t get a hold of him. Arya was training in Braavos and Bran was away at school. She thought she had killed Ramsey.

Jon drove as fast as he could to Winterfell. When he got there the place was a mess. Furniture was toppled everywhere and a thin trail a blood to lead him into the kitchen. Ramsey was on the floor, covered in blood that was dripping not so slowly from a gap in his head. Jon checked his pulse, found it, but did nothing else to rouse him. When he looked up from Bolton’s body, he was startled by Sansa standing in the doorway. The dress she was wearing was ripped to shreds, barely staying on her too thin shoulders. She was covered in blood and bruises that Jon took stock of: a black eye, welts around her neck, arms, and thighs, cuts everywhere. She had had enough, she said. She was tired of being a plaything. She never cried, just slumped into his arms and waited for the ambulance. 

They hadn’t talked much after that night. Jon went with Arya to most of the divorce hearings but kept his head down and his fingers crossed that the incident was never mentioned. Everyone knew, of course, that Sansa and Ramsey had almost beaten each other to death but everyone also knew that Ramsey was a sadistic bastard with a lot of money and Sansa was the heart broken socialite. 

Roose thought it best not to add assault charges to the divorce proceedings, didn’t want the secret about his sons hobbies to get out, but the press still intervened and the divorce was still messy. Tyrion was Sansa’s lawyer and the gossip flared, the ex-husband representing the untrustworthy wife. Jon remembered The Mirror had done an entire “expose” on the lost loves of Sansa Stark. Petyr Baelish gave a first hand account of life with Sansa. Jon wanted to set the newsstand on fire. All Sansa wanted was Winterfell; she wanted to be a Stark again. Bolton fought for it, said it was his right after having to put up with her but the judge was more than fair and Sansa reclaimed her life. She was granted custody of Rickon and worked on rebuilding the home that Ramsey and Theon had tried so hard to destroy. 

When Dany proposed the marriage law, Jon’s memory became so overwhelmed with thoughts of Sansa that he had to leave the room and pace around the lobby. Tyrion had followed him and Jon knew that the other man’s thoughts matched his own. They had both tried in earnest to get the queen to change her mind, but Dany herself was the product of multiple political marriages and would not be swayed.

After his talk with Sansa, Jon left Winterfell feeling more guilty than he had when he arrived. He spent the rest of the night attempting to drink himself to sleep which proved to be a vain effort. His mind could not stop focusing on the problem at hand. He was trying to come up with yet another not so tactful argument for Dany when his phone rang. He starred blurry eyed at the screen and his heart sank when he saw the familiar name.

“Sansa?” He rasped out.

“Okay.” She said and he could hear the finality in her voice, the defeat, “Let’s do it.” 

“Okay.” He repeated, trying to find something else to say. He had thought she hung up after a beat and was drifting off to sleep when he heard her voice again. All the defeat disappeared and a cheerfulness took over. “Come over for dinner tomorrow. I can’t wait to see you!”

It took Jon a minute to realize she had taken his warning about the queen keeping tabs to heart. He tried to muster as much jollity as he could, “Counting down the minutes.” 

She sighed, “Love you, Jon.”

“Love you.” And then the line went dead.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot, that's all mine. Everything else belongs to George R.R. Martin, HBO Universe, and anyone else involved in A Song of Ice and Fire and Game of Thrones. The title comes from the song of the same name by the Mountain Goats.

  
_“I'm going to get myself in fighting trim, scope out every angle of unfair advantage...”_ -The Mountain Goats

On Saturday afternoon, a few hours before the sky turned black, Jon found himself standing on the porch of Winterfell and ringing the doorbell. Arya and Bran always let themselves in but Jon felt strange being so presumptuous. Winterfell had been his home for most of his life but even as a child he never felt truly at home. When Sansa reclaimed it as her own it felt even more unfamiliar. Sansa running Winterfell was the end of Ned and Cat's chapter. Even after all the years, it was hard to walk into Winterfell and not hear Ned's deep voice or catch a glimpse of Cat's hair as she rushed passed to fix some problem. Sansa answered the door in a too big sweater and leggings. Even in the summer, Winterfell maintained a light chill. Her wet hair was piled on top of her head. Jon wondered how many people had been privy to this unbuttoned Sansa. This figure with her messy hair and oversized clothing had seemingly disappeared as they entered adulthood but here she was before him. She was at home, finally, in her realm and a twinge of affection surged in Jon at being welcomed in. 

Sansa had worked hard to rebuild the grand estate from all of the damage done to it. She tried to modernize it, all the while maintaining what they had loved as children. She had kept what was left of her parents’ furniture and when Sansa opened the door and welcomed him in, she led him to the old kitchen table that had been a wedding present to Cat from Ned. Ned had built it himself from one of the weirwood trees in the forest on the grounds. Jon always liked to run his hands on the underside, feel the scratches and gnarls that weren’t hidden by sealant and varnish and sandpaper. It always reminded him of Ned’s own roughness, hidden poorly beneath polish.

Sansa offered him a beer and an apologetic smile when she confessed to only ordering pizza but Jon brushed that away. She gave him a side smile but a true one when she sat opposite him with her own plate, feet curled up underneath of her.

“So…” Jon said after a long pull of his beer, rolling up the sleeves of his old flannel shirt, “how do we do this?”

Sansa pulled a piece of crust off of her pizza and looked thoughtful, “Well, it has to be believable, so we can’t over do it. You’re a stoic person so you can’t all of the sudden turn into some Lothario with his heart on his sleeve.” She took another bite and swallowed, “How did we meet?”

Jon chuckled, “That’s pretty obvious.” He shrugged and took a bite of his pizza.

“You’re so clueless.” But her tone wasn’t accusatory, “when did you fall in love with me?”

Jon took another and chewed slowly, “After the divorce? You kept a flat in the Capital and we ran into each other one night?”

Sansa nodded while sipping her beer, “Reconnected over coffee?”

Jon smiled at that, “At Zeke’s outside of Flea Bottom. Where all the art kids hangout.”

Sansa sighed, “They have the best coffee. I really miss that place, actually.”

“Pretty decent sandwiches too.” Jon wiped his hands on a paper towel and reached for another slice of pizza.

Sansa shifted the box closer to him, “Yeah? I never had them.”

“You should.” Jon took a bite and swallowed. “Maybe, that’s how I convinced you to go with me.”

Sansa said, “Perfect. And then we kept hanging out because I didn’t know anyone else in the city and I was trying to avoid some old friends anyway.”

“Mmmhmm. But we kept it quiet because Bran was stressing over school and Arya was training in Braavos and Rickon was dealing with everything.” 

Sansa got up and walked to the kitchen, returning with two more beers. “It was nice having a secret. Not having everything aired out.” She sat back down and handed Jon his bottle.

“Thank you.” He shifted the pizza box back in her direction. “It was nice having someone to talk to who wasn’t in the brotherhood.”

“Not enough female company, Jon?” She winked at him as she brought the beer bottle to her lips.

Despite himself, he felt his cheeks warm. “Not as little as everyone seems to think, though, cheeky.”

“You do all right?”

He nodded, “I get by.”

“Girls always fall for the shy ones.”

Jon shrugged, “Worked on you. You just couldn’t resist it.” 

“Those sad puppy dog eyes.” Sansa scoffed and threw a piece of pizza crust at him, “we didn’t know how long we could keep it a secret and when you found out about Dany’s decree, you knew we had to go public.”

“Speaking of which, I’ll talk to Dany on Monday. Should we let Arya and Bran know?”

“Maybe we should keep them in the dark, that way if the press gets to them, they’ll come off as clueless. You know Arya’s a shit liar.”

“That she is. Rickon’s still at camp?” Jon stood, collected both their plates, and headed into the kitchen. “Another beer?”

Sansa followed him with the empty pizza box, “Yes, please. And yeah, he comes back week after next. He sent a letter and there’s a bit for you in there.”  
While Jon busied himself with loading the dishwasher, Sansa pulled a handwritten letter off of the refrigerator, “Tell Jon Shaggy misses Ghost and we want to meet the dragons.” 

Jon chuckled as Sansa handed him the letter. He ran his hand over the colorful and sloppy handwriting, “I hope he never changes. Have you written back yet?”

Sansa nodded as her handed back the letter, “Me too. Not yet, I was going to get a package together this week.”

Jon followed her back out to the table, “Good. I’ll have something for him.”

She perched herself back in the chair, pulled her legs close to her and rested her chin on her knees, “He’ll like that.” She brushed a stray piece of hair out of her face, “What’s your favorite drink?”

He motioned to the beer bottle in his hand, “And whiskey but only in the winter. Why?”

She took a sip of her own beer, “We should probably know these things.”

He nodded, “Yeah, you’re right. What’s yours?”

She repeated his motion, “But I always order Vodka Tonics in public. Or wine, which I actually hate. It looks more refined.”

He took a sip of his beer, “Dually noted. Favorite film?”

Sansa bit her lip in thought, “Sleeping Beauty. You?”

“Red Dawn. The original.” Sansa cachinnated so hard she almost spit out her beer. “What?” Jon questioned, “It’s a classic.”

“I expected something more refined. Like Full Metal Jacket or something.”

“I’m not that serious.” He sighed and took a pull from his beer, “Well, maybe I am. But Red Dawn is the best. End of discussion.”

Sansa put her hands up in surrender, “If you say so. Oh, gods, I can picture you running around with Ghost in the woods shouting Wolverines!”

Jon laughed, loud and full, “But you never actually saw it and that is a testament to how seriously I take things.”

Sansa chuckled, “Fair enough. Last meal?”

“Shepard’s pie. Your mum’s.”

Sansa smiled but it didn’t meet her eyes and she started picking at the label on her bottle, “Same.”

The pair spent almost two hours getting to know one another. Despite having grown up in the same house, Jon and Sansa had kept their distance from each other. Jon was so close to the rest of the Stark children, that he never needed to bother with Sansa. He accepted her dislike of him and presented his own opinion slightly negitive of her. Throughout their talk, he started to see how funny she could be and how clever she was. The public Sansa was a wasp who only understood fashion and society and where to find her next boyfriend. Jon knew those things were untrue but their conversation showed the depths to which Sansa went. He felt honored to see the many facets of her. Sansa had always thought Jon to be serious and uptight but as their conversation grew she was surprised to see him unwind and relax. He had a good laugh and it startled her to realize how rare his laughter had been since Robb died. The others could pull chuckles from Jon every once in a while but a real laugh was hard to come by. Such a shame, she thought. 

Jon rolled the beer bottle between his hands, “Best childhood memory?”

“Oh…I know!” She exclaimed, “Rickon was still a baby and it had snowed, I don’t remember, but it seemed like it was up to our chests and you and Robb let me help you build an igloo and Theon came over and destroyed it. I was so upset that you and Robb built two more and one was just for me. I was queen of the igloo and I made Arya be my knight.”

Jon smiled, “I remember that. We should’ve been architects.”

“You should have. What would you have done if you weren’t in the Night’s Watch?”

Jon shrugged, “I don’t know, honestly. Fire brigade or something, I suppose.”

Sansa yawned without deliberation and Jon glanced at the old clock hanging on the wall, “I should head out. Ghost’ll eat everything in the fridge.”

Sansa stretched as she uncurled herself from the chair and walked him to the door, “How is old Ghost?”

“The same as ever.” Jon opened the door and turned back to Sansa, “I’ll let you know how it goes with Dany. Thanks for dinner.”

Sansa nodded and grabbed his hand, “Thank you. For helping me.”

Jon squeezed her fingers lightly and shrugged, “I wish I could do more.”

“This is enough.” She watched as he walked down to his beat up pick up truck. She had always hated that thing. He had had it for years and she remembered when she was mortified that he had picked up her from boarding school in it. Now, as she watched him climb in, she thought that he couldn’t possibly drive anything else. He waved out of the window as he backed out of the driveway and it took everything she had to keep the tears at bay until she was back inside of the house.

Jon spent all of Sunday going over what he would say to Dany, how he and Sansa had fallen in love, and to please take pity on their plight. True to his word, he knocked on the queen’s office door first thing Monday morning. She greeted him as she always had, with a soft smile and a sigh.

Jon liked Daenerys; he knew she was good for Westeros. She wasn’t a manipulative Lannister or a vainglorious Tyrell. For the most part, she had a good head about her and was usually fair but she could also be stubborn and Jon hated when she was stubborn. The marriage decree had been born out of one of her stubborn moments and he had tried so hard to sway her hand. She had been the product of a fairly, albeit short and heartbreaking, arranged marriage and without it her political status would not be what it is.

Jon sat down in the chair opposite her and immediately ran a hand through his hair.

“What’s troubling you, Jon?” Her violet eyes would not drop his gaze. Jon was never quiet sure how old she was but he knew she was around his age. That always disquieted him; she seemed so much older, wise and calculating in a way others in their late twenties were not. She had an otherworldly quality about her that always made Jon feel small when her eyes focused on him as they did that morning.

“I wanted to talk to you about the marriage decree.” He stood firm and held her gaze.

She rolled her eyes and chuckled lightly but there was coldness behind it, “Not again, Jon.”

“No, your grace, it’s more of a personal matter. I’ve made my choice.” He cleared his throat and willed himself to keep calm.

She smiled and he noted that it was genuine. “Oh? And who is the lucky lady?”

“Well,” he cleared his throat again, “that’s why I’m here. It’s Sansa Stark.”

“She wasn’t on your list, if I recall.” Daenerys leaned forward slightly in her chair. Jon sat up straighter.

“No, she wasn’t. We’ve been seeing each other for a while now. Since her divorced from Ramsey Bolton was finalized.” He gave her a weak smile, “that’s why I was so upset about the decree. I’ve been planning on purposing for months now. I wanted to do it on her birthday, which is at the end of the month.”

The queen finally dropped her gaze and Jon noted how her cheeks reddened ever so slightly. “Oh, gods, I had no idea.”

“We didn’t really know how to tell anyone. We thought it’d be unfair to her siblings if the public found out before they did. After everything they’ve been through.”

She nodded and Jon noticed the slightly twinkle in her eye. “Of course, of course. Have you proposed yet?”

“Not yet, I wanted to talk to you first. See if there was something we could do.”

Dany smiled full and bright and Jon knew he had her, “Certainly. I approve. I’ll call Tyrion in right now and have him file the paperwork. You should’ve said something, Jon. You’re so secretive.”

Jon’s smile matched her own as he rose from the chair, “Thank you. She’ll be so happy.”

Dany followed him to the door, “Now that it’s official, you should bring her to the dinner on Friday. Show her off.”

“Yeah, she’d like that.” Jon turned and took her hand and hoped he didn’t over do it, “Thank you, Dany. Truly. This is the greatest gift anyone has ever given us.”

“You both deserve it.” She squeezed his hand as he left.

An hour later Tyrion burst into Jon’s office, looking harassed and slightly out of breath. “We’re going for coffee, now.”

Without another word, Tyrion turned on his heel and Jon scrambled to follow his path. Tyrion didn’t speak again until they were seated across from each other at the small coffee shop three blocks from their offices.

Tyrion looked up at Jon as he stirred the contents of his mug, “You know she’s going to use this to her advantage, right. The Targaryens and the Starks reuniting again but this time in peace.”

“Yeah, I assumed.” Jon took a sip of his coffee; it burned his tongue as he swallowed.

“You’re a good man, Snow.” 

“I try to be. You know---“

Tyrion cut him off before he could finish, “just how in love you and Sansa are? Of course, any idiot could see it. When I first visited Winterfell, she used to sneak glances at you from across the dining room.” He took a swig from his mug as Jon processed Tyrion's ability to be one step ahead of everyone else. 

“I’m glad she said yes.” 

Tyrion smiled, “So you proposed then?”

“Not officially but we discussed it. I’m waiting until her birthday.”

“She’ll love that. She deserves a good husband.”

“You were good to her.”

Tyrion shook his head, “Not in the way she needed me to be.” He frowned slightly before meeting Jon’s eyes and raising his mug, “Congratulations on your upcoming nuptials.”

Jon clanked his mug with Tyrion’s, “Cheers.”

When he got back to his office a half an hour later there was a message to call Sansa. Her secretary seemed to be repressing giggles after Jon identified himself and when Sansa answered she sounded slightly disgruntled.

“Hey, Jon. The girls are going bananas over the fact that someone sent me flowers.”

“You got them then? The white tulips?”

“Yes, thank you. They’re lovely. And my favorite. And according to the attached card, she approved?”

“Yep. She did.” Jon rested the phone on his shoulder as he riffled through his desk.

“Wanna meet up for lunch to celebrate?” Sansa swirled around in her chair to motion to her secretary.

“Yeah, where?”

“Chippies by the Keep?”

“Sounds good. See you then.” He was about to hang up when he remembered himself, “I love you.”

“I love you.” Before she hung up he caught the sound of giggling in the background.

She was sitting on a bench by the keep with two Styrofoam boxes and two paper cups when he made his way to her. She stood and kissed him lightly on the cheek. 

Jon pulled a model dragon out of his pocket and handed it to Sansa. “That’s for Rickon. His very own dragon from the Queen’s tower.”

Sansa admired the little creature before tucking it securely into her purse. “Oh he’ll love it! “

“We need to tell the others,” Jon said as he sat down. “Actually talk it out with them.”

Yeah, once we go public, they’ll want an explanation.” Sansa handed Jon his lunch.

He took a sip of his drink, “That reminds me. Do you have plans on Friday?”

She shook her head, “I don’t think so. Why?”

“There’s a dinner for the council members and higher ups. It was implied that I should probably bring you. “

Sansa shrugged as she bite into a French fry. “All right. Black tie?”

Jon nodded while chewing and then swallowed, “Yeah. Unfortunately.”

She snickered, “Oh shut up. You look handsome in a tux.” He blushed but didn’t respond otherwise. “Oooh, I have an idea. Since we’re official.”

Jon raised an eyebrow, “What’s that?”

Sansa pulled her phone out of her purse, “Here hold my hand.” She grabbed his hand, manipulated his fingers so they curved around her own just right and positioned their hands on the bench between them. She focused her phone over their hands and Jon heard the familiar sound of a camera click.

“You just took a picture, didn’t you?” He sighed as she released his hand.

“Jon, we’re supposed to be in love, remember? This is how it’s done these days.” Jon chuckled and continued eating his sandwich as she fiddled with her phone.

“Done and done.” She said after a couple of seconds then turned her phone so he could see her handy work: an artful Instagram post of their entwined hands. The caption read, “lunch date with my #mancrushmonday. #mcm #js

“Man crush Monday?”

“You’re such an old man.”

“But I’m your old man and you’re stuck with me.” He guffawed at the look she couldn’t quite hide on her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: You guys are amazing! Thank you so much for reading. I haven’t really decided what to make of the season finale in terms of this story but I’ll figure that out soon. As always; questions, concerns, and comments are always welcome. Thanks! P.S. Zeke’s has the best coffee in Baltimore. The end.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot, that's all mine. Everything else belongs to George R.R. Martin, HBO Universe, and anyone else involved in A Song of Ice and Fire and Game of Thrones. The title comes from the song of the same name by the Mountain Goats.

  
_“We're going to commandeer the local airwaves to tell the neighbors what's been going on and they will shake their heads and wag their bony fingers in all the wrong directions, and by daybreak we'll be gone.”_ -The Mountain Goats

 

Jon was amazed at how quickly Sansa’s picture travelled. She spent most of the week sending him snapshots of comments people had left: "Is that who I think it is?” “Awww cute! But what would Ramsey say?!” “Jon Snow can get it.”

They had met a few more times that week for lunch and Sansa had invited him to Winterfell a couple of evenings. When Friday rolled around, Jon was a little surprised at the sense of anxiety that had crept up on him. It was a big event, an opportunity for the politicians to schmooze and he knew he couldn’t stand 90% of the people attending but he had to do his job. Add Sansa to the mix and it was like junior prom all over again.

He couldn’t remember spending as much time with Sansa as he had the week leading up to the dinner. Long gone was the little giggling girl who only cared about being a princess. Sansa was solemn now. She took her job at the magazine seriously and was usually working on something when Jon appeared. He knew the dinner would wear on her because of her history and he hoped to the gods that everything went smoothly.

He had never really been to one of these things. The closest he could remember was when the Baratheons had stayed one summer. He had had to wear his best clothes and keep his back straight and remember his yes ma’ams and no sirs. Sansa was used to this life but she had shunned it and as Jon made his way closer to Winterfell, his anxiety grew.

For the first time ever, Jon used his hand of the queen position and was able to borrow a car for the evening. He knew Sansa hated the truck. He had a distinct memory of her whinging and huffing the entire way home one Christmas break because her school friends had seen her get into it. When he drove her back after the holidays, she made him drop her off at the end of the lane.

Sansa wasn’t quite sure what to expect as she waited for Jon. She was doing laps around the porch and smoking as many cigarettes as she could. She startled as a smart black car pulled into the driveway and only relaxed when Jon climbed out of it. Sansa was a little taken back by how well his suit fit him. She was expecting some wrinkled thing from the back of his closet that he had thrown on but this was tailored to him and it looked good. However, his skinny black tie reminded her that this was, indeed, Jon Snow. He’d never go so far as to wear a bow tie.

Sansa had always been beautiful, everyone knew that, but seeing her in that emerald green dress had knocked Jon back a step. Everyone always remarked about how much she looked like Cat, and she did, but Jon remembers Cat as a serious woman, a mother. Jon could never picture Cat looking the way Sansa did then. Her long hair was pinned loosely to expose her shoulders but Jon noted that she wasn’t wearing heels. He realized, as she stubbed out the cigarette and made her way down to the porch, that she would have been taller than him if she had.

She waved and nodded as he held the door open to her, “Truck in the shop?”

He laughed and ran a hand through his hair, “No, I just figured this would be more impressive.”

She smiled, “It’s very nice.” 

The ride to the party was made in a comfortable silence. Sansa fiddled with the radio dials until getting frustrated and turning it off. When they were a block or so from the Red Keep, she started grilling him on everything they had planned that week. They dropped the car off with the valet and were immediately met with the blinding light of cameras as they walked in.

Sansa smiled brightly and leaned into Jon’s shoulder as his hand snaked around her hip. At one point she leaned into kiss his cheek and whispered, “you’re doing great! Relax!”

By the time they actually made it inside, followed closely by Myrcella Lannister and Trystane Martell, Jon wanted nothing more than a drink. He started to make his way to the bar but Sansa grabbed his hand and made the introductions. He had almost forgotten how good she was at this. Watching this girl laughing and chitchatting, no one could imagine the person she had become. She kept that part of herself guarded, relying on what she had learned from Cersei and Petyr but Jon had caught glimpses and knew something dark was hidden there.

Jon was nowhere near as good at socializing as Sansa so he maintained a mantra of only speaking when being spoken to and keeping his hand on Sansa at all times, like she had told him. There meetings the previous week had been filled with lessons. “Touch me as often as you can; whether it’s your hand on my hip or lightly joining fingers. It’ll show you can’t get enough of me, that you’re possessive of me.” “Keep the conversation light and airy. Work talk is okay to an extent but no political arguments.” “Look at me and smile, every once in a while.”

He was going through her rules again when her slight tug on his arm drew him out of his stupor. Sansa smiled up at him but was still talking to Trystane and Myrcella, “I think someone needs a drink. We’ll see you later.”

They finally made their way to the bar after shaking hands and promising to attend the other couple’s upcoming nuptials when Jon felt a hand clap on his shoulder. He jumped at the contact and almost spilled his drink as he turned around and came face to face with Daenerys.

“Just coming over to formally introduce myself.” She smiled lightly as Jon got his bearings.

“Oh yeah, right.” He ran his hand through his hair. Sansa was talking to the girl next to her at the bar, he tapped her shoulder and she beamed as she turned towards him, “Sweetheart, this is Dany.” He gestured between the two women, “Dany, Sansa Stark.”

Sansa curtsied low; the exact same way Jon remembered her practicing in front of the mirror when they were children. “It’s so lovely to meet you, your grace. Jon has spoken so highly of you. Thank you for having us tonight.”

Daenerys smiled brightly at Sansa, “It’s a shame he’s kept you a secret this long. These things are dreadful to go to alone.”

Sansa laughed and batted his eyelashes at Jon, “I told you, darling. We should’ve brought this about sooner.” Then she was smiling at Dany again, “I was starting to think he was ashamed of me.”

Jon took a long swig of his whiskey, “Completely untrue.”

Sansa wrapped her arm around his waist, “I know. You’re not exactly a ‘shout it from the rooftops’ kind of guy.” Her eyes were back on Dany as she giggled, “He’s very romantic. Just doesn’t want anyone to know.”

Jon forced a chuckle, “That’s enough now. Dany’ll think I’m too soft.”

He was amazed; Dany was buying every bit of their act. Sansa was perfect, of course, but Jon couldn’t believe he was doing that well.

“I won’t tell a soul.” Dany glanced around the room and motioned for the bartender to bring another drink, “Truthfully, I wish I could stay here with you two but banter awaits.” She offered the couple the biggest smile Jon had ever seen, “It was lovely to finally meet you, Sansa. Jon’s a lucky man.” Then she made her way into the crowd.

Jon let out a low whistle and Sansa punched him lightly in the belly. The rest of the evening went on in a similar fashion. Various people would come up to mingle; most of them Sansa knew and introduced to him, a handful Jon introduced to her. For the most part he talked about work or Sansa and let Sansa dominate the rest of the conversation. She lured people with that smile and when a lock of hair fell free from the pin, Jon couldn’t help but tuck it behind her ear. Even he was mesmerized. 

The highlight of the evening was Tyrion’s company. Jon noticed the slight change in Sansa as soon as the older man brought over a Vodka and Tonic for her. Her smiles became more sincere and her laughter heartier. They spoke with Tyrion longer than anyone else at the dinner and Jon was thankful that someone in their mists could calm both he and Sansa so. Jon was just about to admit that he was enjoying himself when Cersei Lannister sauntered over and bulldozed their conversation.

“So it is true; a Stark and a Targaryen together again. Let’s avoid the war this time, shall we, Little Dove?” She took a generous sip of her wine and eyed Sansa over the glass.

Never one to miss a beat, Sansa put on her pristine fake smile, “It’s so lovely to see you. It’s been so long.” Jon and Tyrion stood idle as the two women coldly embraced. She gestured to Jon, “You remember Jon, of course?”

Cersei nodded to Jon but didn’t offer her hand, “Of course.” Then her eyes were on Tyrion, “Hello Brother.”

Tyrion did not smile but his voice was even and calm, “Sister, it’s a shame you didn’t join this lovely conversation sooner.” He caught Sansa’s eye, “They were just on their way out.”

Sansa nodded and elbowed Jon lightly, “I’m afraid I’ve had a bit too much to drink.” She wobbled slightly and put some of her weight on Jon.

“Best get her home.” Jon shook Tyrion’s hand and wrapped his arm around Sansa’s shoulders, “Good night.”

Sansa did a decent job of stumbling into Jon’s cars but when they were free from prying eyes she rolled down the window and lit a cigarette.

“How do you think we did?” Jon asked solemnly.

“Pretty good. Cersei’s suspicious but that’s not a rare thing.” She sighed and looked out the window, flinging her half smoked cigarette, “Shit. There’s somebody on your tail.”

“Huh?” Jon repositioned the rearview mirror, “it’s not a government car.”

Sansa looked over her shoulder just in time to see a camera flash, “It’s paparazzi.” She bit her lip, “I have an idea. Don’t go to Winterfell. Go to your flat.”

“Why?”

“Just follow my lead.”

Jon noticed the car maintained it’s distance but Sansa had definitely been right. When they pulled up outside of his flat, he swore he heard the sound of a camera shutter as he opened her door. Sansa stumbled out of the car and flung herself into his arms. As he was unlocking the door, she put his arms around his neck and forced him to look at her. She gave the smallest of nods before kissing him. It took Jon a second for everything to register but he kissed her back with everything he could muster. She was breathing heavier when she pulled away to bite on his ear and whisper, “Grab my ass.”

He hesitated but she bit his neck hard so he grabbed. She let out a giggle and wobbled back to her position next to him as he unlocked the door. He clutched her hand and drug her inside, letting go when the elevator doors closed.

“Are there cameras in here?” She asked as she started taking bobby pins out of her hair.

“No, I checked it out when I moved in.” He was trying his hardest to avoid looking at her. She giggled, “It’s scary how good you are at this.”

She sighed, “It’s scary how much practice I’ve had.”

The ding of the elevator made her jump and he led the way down to his door at the end of the hall. When he opened the door, he hesitated before sticking his head inside and shouting, “You better be fully clothed this time!”

Sansa was shocked when a female voice answered, “Fully clothed! And in the kitchen!”

Did Jon have a girlfriend? She hadn’t expected this. Jon never had girlfriends. She remembered girls liking him when he and Robb were at school but he never pursued them. But now, of course he would have one. But why hadn’t he told her. This was bad.

Jon cleared his throat and Sansa realized he was holding the door open for her. As soon as she walked in a giant bundle of white fur was at her feet, pawing at her dress. Jon scolded Ghost but Sansa didn’t care. She missed Lady so much some times that she’d give all the dresses she had for a greeting like this everyday. She wiped at the tears in her eyes before pulling herself up from Ghost and finally noticing the man standing behind him.

“Looks like Jon Snow has a type!” the man shouted to someone in the room behind him.

“Sam!” Jon scolded, “This is Sansa. Sansa this is my mate, Sam. He was in the Night’s Watch.”

She offered her hand to Sam, “It’s nice to meet you. I didn’t know Jon had a roommate.”

“It’s only temporary,” Sam offered, “I just got accepted to the Citadel and Jon’s letting my girlfriend and I stay while we find a place.”

Girlfriend. That must’ve been the voice Sansa heard. An unexpected relief washed over her.

As if on queue a small woman pranced into the room, “Hi, I’m Gilly.” She looked at Jon and waved, “Finally got Little Sam down. We’ve just ordered a pizza if you’d like some.”

Jon smiled at the slight confusion on Sansa’s face, “Little Sam is Gilly’s son.” He motioned back into the flat, “You can stay in my room. I’ll take the couch. I’ll get you some clothes.” He looked back at Gilly and Sam, “Pizza sounds fantastic. Dinner wasn’t really much of a dinner at all.”

Sansa followed Jon down the modest hallway, past a very neat bathroom, where he motioned to the open door next to it.

It had been years since Sansa had seen the inside of Jon’s room and if memory served his decorating sense hadn’t changed much. Everything was dark black, navy, and gray. She noticed he used the smaller bedroom and if reading her mind told her he had figured it’d be easier for Sam and Gilly and the baby to have to master. There were books everywhere but otherwise he kept it fairly neat. There was an old record player in the corner next to a stack of even older records and pictures on almost every surface. She was happy to see Robb’s smiling face and the old Christmas picture of the Starks where Cat forced her to sit next to Jon. There were a few pictures of men dressed in black, the Night’s Watch she figured, and just one of Jon and a girl. Sansa didn’t know her, knew for whatever reason that she wasn’t from Westeros, but this girl had fiery red hair, not unlike Sansa and her mind travelled back to Sam’s initial comment.

Jon handed her an old obscure band t-shirt she remembered him wearing all the time a lifetime ago and a pair of gym shorts. She showered to get all the makeup off and product out and by the time she was finished Sam, Gilly, and Jon were sitting on the living room sofa eating pizza. She squished in next to Gilly and spent the rest of the night basking in the comfort of sincere people. Jon was at ease with the couple. She hadn’t seen him that relaxed since Robb died. He laughed fully at most of the things Sam said and smiled every time Gilly talked. They group made sure to include Sansa in their discussions even if it meant giving her brief backstories or retelling tales they had all lived through.

After saying good night, she fell asleep easily thinking about how comfortable she felt and vaguely how much the sheets smelled like Jon and Jon smelled of pine.

When Sansa woke up the next morning her senses were overcome with the scent of pine and she burrowed herself back into it. When her mind fully registered exactly where she was and where the pine smell was coming from she sat up like a bolt in his bed. She checked the clock and realized she hadn’t sleep that long or that well in years. As she padded into the living room, she found Jon looking pensively out of the window wearing only sweatpants and holding a mug of coffee. He turned at the noise.

“Morning,” he offered her a sleepy smile, “Sam and Gilly are with the estates agent. There’s coffee in the kitchen. I think there might be tea somewhere.”

She rubbed her eyes and smiled, slightly distracted by his lack of clothing, “What’s going on out there?”

“That car from last night is still there and there’s another one, now.” He took a sip of his coffee.

“Wow, we must be a pretty hot topic. Can they see you?”

Jon nodded, “Yeah I think so.”

A mischievous smile grew on Sansa’s lips, “Perfect.” Jon had his back to her and didn’t notice when she shimmed out of his gym shorts, walking over to him in only her underwear and his t-shirt. 

He was startled when she came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his middle, resting her head on his shoulder, “You’re too much,” he said.

“Turn around and kiss me.” She squeezed her arms.

He turned and kissed her, coffee mug still in one hand while the other tugged on her chin. It was gentler than the night before, more calculated. She nibbled lightly on his bottom lip, all the while pulling him back towards the kitchen. When her back met the door jam she let go, catching her breath.

Sansa patted Jon lightly on the shoulder as he shook his head and untangled himself from her. “You’re pretty good at that,” she said.

His cheeks reddened but he shrugged, “Thanks. I guess.” 

She snuck back into the living room and grabbed the shorts she had left behind, “That should do the trick.”

He grabbed a mug from the cabinet and poured her coffee, “Hopefully.”

“It will.” She rummaged through his cabinets and found the sugar jar. 

Eventually the paparazzi got bored waiting for them to reemerge and went on to find the next scandal. Sansa checked her phone on the way back to Winterfell and pleasantly scrolled through all the pictures posted of her Jon from the previous evening including their kiss outside the flat, and by mid afternoon, their kiss by the window.

As Jon’s truck barreled down Winterfell’s driveway they were both shocked by the presence of Arya’s car.

Jon followed Sansa into the house and found Arya sitting at the kitchen table starring disgustedly at her phone. She looked up when she saw them, rage in her eyes.

She turned her phone in their direction and the couple noticed one of the pictures from the morning, Jon shirtless and Sansa pantsless mid-kiss. Neither had realized Sansa’s leg had almost slid around Jon’s hip. After what felt like years Arya broke the silence, “What the fuck is going on?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I don’t know about this one. Thanks to everyone for reading and all the wonderful feedback! You guys are so sweet!


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot, that's all mine. Everything else belongs to George R.R. Martin, HBO Universe, and anyone else involved in A Song of Ice and Fire and Game of Thrones. The title comes from the song of the same name by the Mountain Goats.

_"We are far too slow to outrun it now but not too far gone to care"- The Mountain Goats_

Jon let his eyes travel from Arya to Sansa, who would not tear her stare away from her sister. Arya looked absolutely livid and Sansa was on the verge of tears. Jon cleared his throat as if to start talking but stopped when he felt Sansa's hand grab his own. He looked at her again and this time met her eyes. She gave him a small, sad smile before speaking.

"We've been together for a while now." She said plainly and Jon couldn't help himself from tugging on her hand, calling out her lie.

Lying to the public, to the politicians, even to Dany were separate things. They had to lie in order to survive this life but he couldn't live with himself if he lied to Arya. With the exception of Robb, Arya had been the closest thing to a sibling Jon had ever had. They had grown apart over the years but she still made it appoint to visit him once a month and check in with weekly e-mails or phone calls. He felt his stomach drop at how she must feel, all that time, thinking Jon and Sansa had kept this secret from her.

Arya scoffed, "Seriously? That's bullshit. You hate each other. Besides, Jon would have told me. Sansa, I know you guard everything but Jon, I thought…I thought I knew you better."

Jon sighed and ran his free hand through his hair, "I wanted to tell you, Arya. Every time we talked it was on the tip of my tongue but this is, was, between Sansa and I and it wasn't my news to tell alone. We should've told you sooner. We love each other."

Arya crossed her arms and shook her head, "There's no way this could be something other than a weird 'I never get laid and you never get laid let's go have some gross sex' thing."

Sansa gave a soft chuckle as she let go of Jon's hand and sat across the table from her sister. Jon started pacing behind Sansa and running his hand through his hair, avoiding looking at both girls.

"It's not like that. We used to hate each other. Not really hate, just couldn't be bothered," Sansa said calmly, "But after everything that happened with Ramsey we grew close. Didn't you ever think it was strange that I called Jon? I felt safe with him and after all that I needed someone who could make me feel that way." Sansa reached behind her with her free hand and touched Jon's arm affectionately. Arya started to speak but Sansa cut her off, "I know I had you but I didn't want to be a burden, you deserve your life in Braavos and I didn't want to ruin that for you."

Jon stopped pacing and looked at Arya. "We used to get coffee in King's Landing. It sort of progressed from there. It's different with Sansa than it was with Ygritte." He watched as Arya nodded slowly and ignored Sansa's slight head turn at the mention of Ygritte. Finally feeling relief, he sat down in the chair next to Sansa. "Sansa was the only person I felt like being around in King's Landing."

Arya didn't know much about Jon and Ygritte but she knew enough. She knew that Jon had loved her deeply but couldn't keep her and she knew that Ygritte had died in the war and it had broken Jon. He shut himself off for a long time after that, taking refuge in fighting walkers. The first time Arya saw him after that was at Sansa's trial. Maybe she should've realized their connection sooner.

"You took her to Zeke's didn't you?" Arya let herself smile as Jon and Sansa both nodded. "But why didn't you say anything? Why did I have to find out from some stupid website? I'm not mad that you're together. It's really fucking weird but I'm trying to be open-minded. I'm just so angry that you kept it from me. "

"We weren't sure how to tell you and Bran and Rickon. It seemed so stupid in comparison to everything you guys have going." Sansa squeezed Arya's hand. "We should've been up front but it seemed like something that was just ours." She looked over at Jon, "We both needed that. We needed something for ourselves. We didn't want any repercussions from the public. And it was unfair to leave you out of it but it felt like the safest option. We needed to protect it."

Arya nodded at Sansa and looked at Jon again, "That's why you were so freaked out about the marriage decree, isn't it?"

Jon swallowed, "Yeah, I thought I'd lose her."

Arya squeezed Sansa's hand and lightly shook her head. "This is so out of left field but I guess it's okay. You should talk to Bran, though. He saw the pictures too."

Sansa nodded, "We're supposed to Skype tomorrow." She craned her neck to look at the clock in the kitchen, "It's getting late. You're not going back to Braavos tonight, are you?"

Arya shrugged. "I was planning on it."

"Stay, please. I'll make your bed up." Sansa let go of Arya's hand and rose from the table.

Arya smiled the first true smile they had seen all night. "If you insist but I've got to leave before the sun tomorrow. ou guys stay. I'm exhausted, I'll take care of it. The sheets still in the hall cupboard?" Sansa nodded as Arya walked around the table and in a very rare show of affection pulled Sansa into a hug.

Sansa rested her chin on top of Arya's head and squeezed lightly. Jon tried to ignore the tears in Sansa's eyes. After they let go, Arya hugged Jon and drug her feet up the staircase to her old bedroom.

Jon waited until he heard her bedroom door close before pulling Sansa into the pantry off the side of the kitchen.

"Why did you lie to her?! We should have told her the truth!" He tried to keep his voice at a whisper but he couldn't keep the anger out of it.

"What did you expect, Jon? We already talked about what a shit liar she is. What if someone questioned her, huh? I know you like Daenerys; I do too, she's what Westeros needs but I've heard things Jon, seen things. She doesn't like to be betrayed. What happens to people who lose her trust?"

Jon wanted to argue, felt it was his duty to defend the Queen but Sansa was right. "We're betraying her."

"Exactly, Jon. We're lying so we don't have to comply with her asinine decree. You're her second in command. You're also her nephew, lest we forget. What would she do if she found out?" She didn't wait for Jon to answer. "We have to lie to everyone. We have to keep them safe."

Jon ran a hand through his hair and studied her. Sansa continued to surprise him. She operated like a courtier and he knew everything she had said had been true. He also knew never to underestimate her.

"I'm sorry." He placed a heavy hand on her elbow and brushed his finger over her skin.

"Speaking of lying…were you ever going to tell me about Ygritte?" Sansa crossed her arms and rose an eyebrow.

Jon shrugged, "There's really nothing to tell."

"I think there's something to tell."

"We dated while I was in the Night's Watch. It ended badly."

"Is that what Arya knows?"

"Just about."

"You really should've told—"

"Listen, Sansa, you're right. I should tell you about Ygritte but I can't, okay? I can't go there right now, whispering in a pantry. It won't affect anything between you and I. There's nothing scandalous about it. I loved her and it ended badly and that's all I can say right now."

"Okay." Sansa uncrossed her arms and ran her hand over Jon's shoulder. "I wish this were easier." She sighed and he nodded. "We should get out of the cupboard."

Jon chuckled, "Yeah. I should head home."

"You can stay, you know." He was a little surprised to see a slight blush to her cheeks. "We should probably start playing that up."

Jon smiled, "Dually noted but I can't tonight. I have an early meeting with Tyrion tomorrow. We should sit down and work that out, though."

Sansa nodded and lead him to the door, "Yeah, probably. Give Ghost my love." She kissed him lightly on the cheek.

"What time are you talking to Bran tomorrow?"

"Around 8. You'll be here, right?"

"Yeah, I'll bring Ghost if it's okay."

"Of course it's okay."

Jon couldn't ignore the tension that had built up in his neck over the course of the evening. They needed to keep this going, their lives depended on it. He knew that but he hadn't really thought about how everything with Sansa would affect his personal life. They'd have to lie to everyone they loved for the rest of their lives. How could they do it? How could they keep it going?

That night the few dreams he had were plagued with fiery red hair, lying lifeless in the snow. When he woke up, he wasn't quite sure whom it belonged to.

After his absurdly early meeting with Tyrion, Jon drug himself through the hallway, clutching a fresh cup of coffee in his hands which he almost spilled when he walked into his office to find Arya spinning around in his desk chair.

"Gods, Arya! You look like a Bond villain."

She laughed, "That's the effect I'm going for."

He took the seat on the other side of his desk. "Oh yeah?" He sipped his coffee and added as an after thought, "I would've brought you some if.."

She waved off his politeness, "Don't be nice. I'm hear to have the 'if you hurt Sansa I'll rip your lungs out through your dick' talk."

He quirked and eyebrow, "That's surprisingly graphic, even for you."

She shrugged, "I've had good training. Jon, seriously, you're like a brother to me but Sansa can't handle anything else. If anything happens to her at all, you will die. She'll probably kill you first and I will help her dispose of the body."

Jon nodded over his coffee mug, "She deserves to be happy."

"More than anyone. And if you're the one to make her happy, that's brilliant. And I hope it works out that way."

Jon crossed his index finger over his heart, "You have my word."

"Good." She opened the top drawer of his desk and riffled around until she found his hidden stash of candy. Popping a jolly rancher in her mouth, she let her eyes narrow on him again, "And please try to be a little more discreet. Gods, those pictures were disgusting."

Jon chuckled, "Didn't take you for such a prude, Arya."

"I am in no way a prude. Ask Gendry. But seriously, it's gross seeing you two make out. Blegh."

"How is Gendry these days?"

"He's fine. Been travelling a lot but I think I've convinced him to come to Sansa's birthday dinner. I'm hoping we can stay the weekend."

"Yeah? She'd love that. Bran and Rickon'll be home by then too." Jon put his mug on his desk and rolled his chair over to her side, "That reminds me. I need your opinion." He reached around and pulled out the bottom drawer of his desk. After rummaging through a pile of manila envelopes he produced a worn, red velvet box and tossed it in Arya's lap. "What do you think?"

She cracked open the box with unusually delicate fingers and pulled out the small ring inside. It was probably over a hundred years old and in desperate need of a cleaning but the simple diamond sparkled around the filigree silver band.

"It was my great grandmother's, apparently." Jon offered, "They say she had Stark blood."

Arya examined the ring more closely and noticed a small wolf etched into the side. She wanted to kick herself for doubting Jon, "She'll love it, Jon. It's perfect."

She placed the ring back in the box and handed it to Jon as she rose from his chair. He attempted to rise to meet her but before he could she had her arms wrapped around his neck. "I know this is right for both of you. You need each other."

Jon hugged her back and smiled, searching for the right words but came up short.

"You totally have a type, by the way." Was the last thing Arya said to him as she pranced out of his office and disappeared back to Braavos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Hey guys! I apologize for the delay. Grad school is serious business. Thank you to everyone for reading this and sticking with it. I cannot tell you how much I adore you all.


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot, that's all mine. Everything else belongs to George R.R. Martin, HBO Universe, and anyone else involved in A Song of Ice and Fire and Game of Thrones. The title comes from the song of the same name by the Mountain Goats.

_“The road this far can't be retraced. There is no punch line anybody can tack on.”- The Mountain Goats_

Jon sat solemnly next to Sansa in front of her laptop while Sansa tapped her foot lightly in time with Ghost’s snores. Both were waiting less then patiently for FaceTime to connect. After a few seconds Bran’s bespeckled face came into view and Jon had to admit the young man looked very grown up in his tie and blazer. Bran had been offered an internship over the summer at Beyond the Wall, a rehabilitation and therapy center that focused on animal therapy. During his time there he had received ample training, rubbed elbows with some very important people, and he had also apparently found himself a girlfriend which made Jon chuckle when Sansa showed him the Facebook pictures of the happy couple.

Sansa and Jon both said “hello” with as much cheerfulness as they could muster but Bran only thoughtfully nodded as he observed them.

“How’s everything going?” Jon asked, reaching down and scratching Ghost lightly behind the ear.

“It’s going really well. I’ve been working with Hodor, you remember him from when we were kids? Old Nan's grandson? He’s really taken with one of the ravens so we’re doing some therapy sessions with them.”

“That sounds wonderful, Bran. Tell him we said 'hi!' I showed Jon your pictures with Meera. How is she?” Sansa smiled at Bran’s light laugh.

“She’s good.” He blushed slightly, “She’s coming to your birthday so you all can scare her away.”

“We’ll be on our best behavior.” Sansa smiled wider and Jon realized how rare it was to see that.

Bran’s smile started to match Sansa’s. “Don’t you two have something to tell me?”

Jon couldn’t hold his sigh in as he glanced at Sansa. “You sister…” he cleared his throat when Sansa pinched his thigh, “…your sister and I have been seeing each other for a while.”

They both waited silently as Bran nodded slowly, rolling the statement over in his brain. “Bet you fight all the time.”

Sansa let out a loud guffaw and Jon couldn’t hide his grin at the noise, “You have no idea.” She said as she patted Jon’s hand lightly.

Bran was still smiling when he turned his focus directly on Jon. “I’m sure Arya gave you the talk already…”

Jon nodded, “She did.”

“What?” Sansa broke in, “when did that happen?”

“She stopped by my office yesterday morning on her way back to Braavos.”

“Oh.” Jon turned away from Sansa but not before he noticed her trying to bite back a smirk.

“Anyway,” Bran went on, “Jon Snow, we’ll collectively kick your ass if Sansa commands it. Night’s Watch means nothing when you wrong a Stark.”

Jon chuckled and saluted Bran. “Duly noted. When are you coming in?”

“Not until late Friday. I have a session that should end around six so hopefully we’ll be in by dark. Dinner’s still Saturday, right?”

Sansa nodded, “Yeah. I think Arya and Gendry’ll be in Friday as well but Rickon can only stay one night so Osha’ll drive up on Saturday and they’ll head back early Sunday. That reminds me, his official graduation is at the end of August if you can make it.”

“Yeah that shouldn’t be a problem. If it works out maybe I can stay a few days before school starts back.”

“That’d be nice.” Sansa said.

Bran nodded, “it’ll be nice to be in a full house again. Summer’ll be happy to see Ghost. Shaggy’s still being trained, right?”

Sansa patted Ghost absentmindly, “Yeah, after all the begging we did for him to be Rickon’s service dog, they had to take him. Jon wrote an official letter. We haven’t heard of him biting anyone in a while.”

Bran laughed, “I’m sure that’s going well.” There was a knock from somewhere behind him and he turned and yelled, “Yep coming” and then turned back to his screen, “All right, love birds. I’m off to a meeting. See you Friday. Love you guys.”

“Bye Bran, love you.” Sansa waved at the screen.

Jon saluted Bran again, “See you, Bran.”

Sansa sighed as she closed the laptop and Jon ran a hand through his hair. “It’s for the best.”

“I know.” 

She patted him lightly on the thigh as she got up from the sofa to grab the TV remote.

“You’ll stay this weekend, right?” She plopped back on the sofa and put her feet up on the coffee table next to her laptop.

“Yeah. I can head up after work on Friday, help you with whatever.”

“This’ll be our true test.”

“That’s what I’m nervous about.”

When Jon’s car pulled into the driveway of Winterfell on Friday afternoon he wasn’t at all surprised to find Sansa pacing the front porch, puffing on a cigarette. She stubbed it out and pocketed it when she heard him close his door.

At first Jon thought she was running to him but realized, as she made her way towards the passenger side, that she only had eyes for Ghost. The feeling was obviously mutual when she flung open the door and Ghost bounded out at her, jumping happily around her legs.

“I think he likes you more than he likes me,” Jon laughed as Sansa jogged to the house with Ghost at her heels.

“Definitely!” Sansa yelled when she reached the doorway.

Jon pulled his bag and a pizza from the car before trotting up after them, hearing Sansa sternly telling Ghost to sit from the kitchen.

She managed to look sheepish when she saw him enter, “I gave him a treat. Is that all right?”

“Yeah, of course.” Jon smiled and put the pizza down next to a large vase of white tulips. “Are you still growing tulips this late in the season?”

Sansa’s hand stopped in midair as she was reaching for plates from the top cabinet. She shrugged her shoulders but didn’t turn to look at him, focusing on her task. “No…um…they’re from Theon. For my birthday.”

“Theon? Was he here? Why would Theon bring you flowers?” Jon tried to keep his voice even but there was a heaviness to it that he couldn’t hide.

Sansa finally turned, holding two plates. “No…of course he wasn’t here. He sends me flowers every year. Always has, since we were kids, actually.” She sighed and met his eyes, “you know I wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for him.”

“I know. I just…” Jon ran a hand through his hair.

“He was as much a prisoner as I was.”

“Do you know where he is?”

Sansa shook her head, “No. Somewhere warm I hope where all you can see if the ocean.” Jon allowed himself to smile at that. “Anyway, are you ready for tonight? I feel like we should probably be drinking.”

Jon laughed lightly, “you’re probably right. When’s Arya coming in?”

“They should be here in,” Sansa glanced at the clock behind in, “about an hour? And Bran maybe around nine.”

“Yeah, let’s do this. I’ll go put my stuff in my old room?” 

“About that…” she ran her hands up and down her arms, “You should probably stay in my room…with me.”

“Sansa…”

“I know but they already think we’re sleeping together and we’re all grown ups. I mean, Gendry will be with Arya and Meera will be with Bran. It’d look suspicious. Besides, Osha needs a place to sleep.”

Jon knew there were two extra bedrooms, the master bedroom and Robb’s room, both were left unopened, untouched. The master bedroom was on the floor above where the children's rooms were and had been Ned and Cat’s room and when Sansa had married Ramsey he had made it theirs. Jon held back a shudder at the thought. He had searched the house after he found her that night and the room was a mess. He remembered vaguely what it looked like when Cat and Ned used it, his most vivid memory of Bran sleeping in their bed after his accident. Jon wasn't in there again until the night he found Sansa and he really had no desire to ever step foot in their again. As for Robb's room, Jon missed spending time in there. Even though Ned and Cat gave him his own room, he still spent most of his teenage years in Robb's. Sansa had locked up Robb’s room after the car accident and Jon would put money down that it hadn’t changed at all. He hoped so anyway. He vaguely remembered Sansa mumbling about keeping Ramsey out but he never pressed her.

Jon nodded at Sansa's words and lifted his bag, “Yeah…yeah you’re right.”

“It’ll be fine.”

He nodded again as he made his way to the stairs.

 

Jon had only been privileged less than a handful of times at being invited into Sansa’s room. Once when they were younger before he officially moved into Winterfell, Jon who never slept very well at other people’s houses was tossing and turning when he heard a faint yelp from across the hall. Ned and Cat had been at a dinner party so Bran and Rickon had been sent to stay with Old Nan, the old lady who rented the tenant house at the end of the property, for the night while Jon and Robb were left to entertain Arya and Sansa. When Jon heard the faint sound of crying, he tried in vain to rouse Robb who snored through Jon’s shoving and poking. Jon crawled out of his sleeping bag with a huff, not even bothering to tip toe and followed the sound into the hallway, knocking lightly on the door across from him. He heard a shuffle inside and then the door was creaking open, Sansa’s tear stained face appearing in the small crack.

“What do you want?” She rubbed at her eyes in an attempt to feign sleep.

“Why are you crying?” Jon asked as soft as he could.

“I’m not crying. You must be imaging things.” She made to close the door but he put his foot in to stop it.

“You’ve got tears all over your face.”

She puffed her chest out, ready for a fight, but then met his eyes and deflated, letting out a light sob. “I had a bad dream.”

“Sometimes it helps to talk about it.”

“I can’t really remember. I just can’t get rid of this awful feeling.”

“Yeah…” Jon pulled his foot from the door. “I’ll leave you alone.”

He turned slightly but her hand reached out and grabbed his arm. “You can’t sleep either?”

“Not really.”

“Wanna play a game? I’m so bored.”

He shrugged his shoulders, “All right.”

She opened the door wide enough to let him in then closed it quickly and softly. He had never been in a real girl's room before. He’d been in Arya’s but her room looked almost exactly like his so it didn’t count. Sansa’s room looked exactly how he imagined a girl’s room would look. It was all pink and white and gold. There was a sheer canopy dangling over her fancy white bed with its pristine turquoise pillows and ruffled bed spread. Everything was neat and tidy and in it's place and Jon shuffled from side to side while she picked a game from one of her bookshelves. Jon can’t remember what game they ended up playing or what they talked about but at some point they fell asleep and were was awoken by Ned who shook him lightly and tried to look grime at the urging of his wife but was biting back a smile.

Jon had been in her room a few times after that to let her know dinner was ready or to bring up a basket of laundry. One time he had to get a book from her bookshelf but he was never in there more than a few seconds. He still remembered the pink and gold and white and the turquoise pillows. When Jon opened her door he wasn’t quite sure what to expect. It was certainly not pink and gold and white anymore. She had a big bed with a practical gray and white bedspread. It was still pristine and unfailingly neat but the walls were painted a boring yellow color with matching curtains. She still had bookshelves but they were different somehow and as Jon inspected them he realized they had once, ages ago, been the one’s that lined Ned’s office. Instead of board games and issues of _Seventeen Magazine_ , Sansa had stocked them with books; books from all over the house. There were the law books, also from Ned’s office, and Robb’s polysci textbooks, and Cat’s old poetry books, Bran’s old comics, Arya’s old Gameboy manuals, and Rickon’s old coloring books. There were photo albums and scrapbooks and even some old records. As Jon let his view travel over the shelves one book in particular caught his eye, an old beat up copy of _Great Expectations_. He doubted himself for just a second before pulling it slowly from the shelf and opening the front cover. Black ink covered the page spelling out in awful, disjointed handwriting: Jon Snow, 19th Century Lit 2A. He closed the book just as slowly as he opened it and smoothed it back into the shelf before depositing his bag and heading out of her room.

On his way back down the hall, he couldn’t help it, he stopped outside of the door closest to the steps, across from Sansa’s and cracked it open. It was just as Jon suspected; Robb’s bed was still unmade, navy blue sheet almost falling off the mattress, one pillow on the floor from where it had fallen in the middle of the night. Jon bravely pushed the door open further, cautious not to actually step inside and disturb the worn, hunter green carpet. There was a shoe next to the door, an old low top, ratty and probably ten years old. It still smelled like him, like teenage boy masked by men’s cologne. “He should be here,” Jon thought. “If Robb were here, Sansa wouldn’t be stuck with me. Robb would’ve made everything okay. Robb was going to change the world.”

When Jon had joined the Night’s Watch, Robb had gone off the college with every intention of taking down their corrupted government through the inside. They had been at some event, rubbing elbows. Robert Baratheon ruled King’s Landing then and from what Jon heard, he and Ned had gotten into an argument. Sansa’s dog, Lady, had been killed and Ned (and Arya) swore that that little shit Joffrey had something to do with it. Ned had grabbed Cat and Robb and left. Now the police report said it was an accident, maybe Ned had had one too many, left the party angry and took a curve too fast. But Jon had heard through snippets and whispers that Cersai, ever calculating had sent a car after them. Some said the car looked just like the one Roose Bolton used to drive. Other’s said it looked like the old Buick Walder Frey pedeled his kids around town in. It wasn’t long after that that Robert died and suspicions arose again. Jon was stuck at the Wall, couldn’t get the whole story, and by the time he was back in King's Landing new rumors were circulating and people had forgotten that Ned never drank and Robb had left Roslin Frey at the alter.

Jon closed the door before he could let himself remember anymore and bounded down the steps to find Sansa curled up on the sofa, a beer in her left hand and a book in her lap. She looked up when he entered slightly out of breath, and gestured to the beer sitting on the coffee table.

He took a seat next to her, grabbed the beer and took a long drink. He felt strange, guilty and was fairly sure she knew what he had been up to.

“I looked in Robb’s room.” He blurted out before he could stop himself. “I didn’t go in. Just looked.”

Sansa nodded, placed her finger in her book to mark her page, and offered him a small smile. “I can’t go in. Can’t change it. We, Theon and I, fought Ramsey tooth and nail to keep him out of there.”

Jon took another pull of his beer, “How did you…”

“I have a key.” She took a sip of her own beer, “And, thank the gods, he was easily distracted.” She let out a mirthless laugh, “For such a calculating bastard he was kind of an idiot.” 

“Why do you stay here?”

“Because it’s mine.” She smiled at him again, “We had this conversation, remember? That night. You told me I’d never have to come back here. But it’s mine, Jon, and it’s Mother’s and Father’s and Robb’s and Arya’s and Bran’s and Rickon’s. I wish I had been stronger. I wish I hadn’t let him in so far.”

“You were strong. You are strong and you were a damn sight stronger than him.” Without thinking, Jon reached out and patted her knee.

“I wish they were around more. I know I can’t expect that of them. They’re young, they deserve to have their lives, but I hate being here alone so much sometimes.”

“You sound like an old woman.”

She took a pull of her beer and chuckled, “I am an old woman.”

Jon’s response was cut off with the sound of Ghost’s barking over the front door being flung open and Arya arguing with Gendry. 

“If you had just taken the King’s Road we would’ve been here like an hour ago!”

“I told you, you could drive if you wanted! Plus the King’s Road has too many tolls!”

Sansa marked her page and uncurled herself to place her book on the table. Jon rose and followed her into the foyer.

Arya dropped her bags and lunged at Sansa with a shout of “Happy Birthday!” while Gendry rolled his eyes and made his way over to Jon, shaking his hand.

“Good to see you, Sir.”

“Gendry, we’ve been over this, you don’t have to call me ‘sir.’”

Gendry shrugged, “Old habits. How ya been? Arya caught me up.”

“Fine, thanks. Sort of overwhelmed but that goes without saying, I guess.”

When Arya let go of her sister she flung herself at Jon while Gendry and Sansa awkwardly hugged. 

Jon and Sansa waited at the bottom of the stairs to hear the familiar sound of Arya’s door opening before Sansa rounded on him, “You could at least look like you aren’t going to your death.”

“I’m sorry. I’m no good at this. I’m not even good at real relationships, how am I supposed to fake one around the people who know me better than anyone?”

Sansa grabbed his hand and smiled at him, “We can do this Jon. We have to.”

They both paused at movement in the hallway and before Jon could pull away, Sansa had her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss.

Jon couldn’t help but lose himself for a second before he heard Arya making exaggerated puking noises.

“You guys are so gross.” She mimed putting her finger down her throat as she walked passed them, Gendry right behind her.

Gendry chuckled behind her, “Leave them alone, Arya.”

Jon cleared his throat in an attempt to will the blush away from his cheeks, “You’ll just have to get used to it, Arya.” He grabbed Sansa’s hand as she giggled beside him and the followed Gendry and Arya into the kitchen. He had been to war and back, lost most of his family and the only woman he’d ever loved, and yet somehow, Jon figured this would be the hardest weekend of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Howdy! Thanks to everyone for the support! You guys are the best! I apologize for the slow updates but bear with me. Also, Modern AU Bran totally wears glasses. Thanks again for all the love!


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot, that's all mine. Everything else belongs to George R.R. Martin, HBO Universe, and anyone else involved in A Song of Ice and Fire and Game of Thrones. The title comes from the song of the same name by the Mountain Goats.

 

_“There’s gonna be a party when the wolf comes home.”- The Mountain Goats_

True to his word, Bran arrived a little after nightfall with Meera in tow. Jon made his way out of the house to help Bran with his chair but stopped short when he spotted Meera already wheeling it around to the driver’s side. Bran waved when he spotted Jon waiting patiently on the porch as Summer bounded around the front yard.

After brief introductions were made the trio headed to the back yard where Sansa, Arya, and Gendry were finishing up dinner. Ghost rushed as soon as he caught wind of Summer and Sansa was short to follow, running at Bran and hugging him, almost lifting him from his chair.

The six of them spent the rest of the evening content to listen to the crickets chirp and to watch the dogs dance around the open space. Meera and Bran were the first to retire, barely faking their yawns and side glances towards each other. Jon chuckled a good night before either could come up with a viable excuse. Arya was much less subtle, tugging on Gendry’s arm while he offered to do the last of the dishes. Sansa’s waved them off, not bothering to hide her smirk.

She waited for the sound of the door closing before she pulled a cigarette from her pocket and lit it.

“They’ll be able to smell it through the windows.” Jon said, taking a drag when it offered it to him and handing it back.

Sansa shrugged, “They’ll probably think you’re smoking again.”

Jon nodded, “No one ever suspects you.”

Sansa turned her face to him, “Isn’t that always the way of a black widow?”

“You’re not going to kill me in my sleep, are you?”

“Nonsense.” She flicked the cherry off of the cigarette and deposited the butt back in her pocket, “That only happens after we’re married and I have access to your bank account.”

She could barely make out his smile in the dark, “Right, of course. Thank the gods I’m poor.”

She laughed as he followed her back into the house. When she made her way to the sink, he shoved her lightly with his hip. Sansa sat on the counter with an old dish rag, slowly drying every dish he handed her. She tried her hardest to focus on her task but she couldn’t stop her eyes from flitting over his form, the way his black t-shirt was a smidge too small for his arms, or how the muscles in his shoulder flexed underneath the thin cotton. She felt herself blush at the now obvious staring but chalked it up to the beer she had had and the general feeling of happiness, something so rare in her life now, at having her family in Winterfell again.

When their chore was finished she hopped off the counter and he stood awkwardly, hands shoved in his pockets, waiting for her direction.

“You’re not getting out of this.” She said with a raised eyebrow, willing her blush to subside.

“Is it really necessary? I could sleep in Bran’s old room.”

“Honestly, Jon, they already think we’re fucking.” She tugged on his arm and led him out of the kitchen.

“Well, if you’re going to put it so eloquently.” As they passed the living room, he patted a sleeping Ghost on the head and marched to what he assumed was something a kin to death.

Jon didn’t want to admit it but Sansa’s bed was comfortable. And the sheets…the fucking sheets must’ve cost her at least a thousand dollars because they were without a doubt the most luxurious things Jon had ever felt. And he was not a man to throw the word luxurious around. In fact, that may have been the first time he ever used it.

No matter how comfortable the bed or how luxurious the sheets, he was wide awake. Sansa was snoring lightly next to him, she would move every once in a while and the stray hairs that escaped her braid would tickle his arm and he really just wanted to sink into the extremely comfortable mattress and disappear.

He shouldn’t have felt as uneasy as it did. It was just Sansa. He had offered several times to sleep on the floor. After the third time she had huffed about the bed being big enough that they wouldn’t even notice each other when he relented and got in. It had been a good argument except that Sansa moved in her sleep and if she shifted one more time she’d be pretty much on top of him and gods dammit why was he thinking about that?

Maybe it had been the beers, yeah probably, or the fact that she had kissed him a couple times while they were sitting outside, or that fact that the fucking luxurious sheets smelled exactly like the shampoo she had been using since she was fifteen that made Jon want to hop out of bed and drive all the way back to Kings Landing.

He was fighting strongly with this urge when she shifted again and patted him stomach lightly.

“Just go to sleep, Jon.” She murmured and he froze.

He slowly turned his head to find here’s level with his shoulder. Her eyes were barely open but she was looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

“You’re bed’s too soft.” He muttered.

She patted his stomach again. “Maybe you’re too hard.” He felt his face redden at a break neck speed and then she was hiding her own in his shoulder. “Oh, gods. Grow up.”

“Me or you?” He asked as he poked her lightly in the side.

“Both of us.” She lifted her head and rested her chin on his shoulder. “Go to sleep.”

“Aye aye.” He nodded and watched her roll over, her back to him. He followed suit, facing her closet. He tried to even his breathing and listen to the crickets outside. After a few minutes he heard her light snores again and he started counting every time she huffed a breath. At some point he fell asleep.

When Sansa woke up the next morning the first thing she noticed was how hot she felt followed very quickly by the fact that she had grown several limbs during the night. An extra pair of arms was wrapped tightly around her waist while her legs were tangled with an extra pair of legs. The next thing she realized was how comfortable she was. She felt safe; something she hadn’t felt in years, since she had first left Winterfell probably. It was rare for Sansa to fully trust a man, since so many had worked so hard to destroy her. But that morning, as her eyes adjusted to the semi darkness, she felt secure. She was just starting to settle back into her position when her brain finally caught up and she realized that it was Jon she was trapped under.

She tugged his arms and shoved his shoulders as best as she could, all the the while ignoring his little murmurs and attempts at keeping her in bed with him. When he started to nuzzle into the base of her neck, she yelled something about Rickon arriving early and that seemed to jostle him enough that he left go and turned back onto his opposite side. Sansa sat on the edge of her bed for a minute, getting her bearings before making her way downstairs.

She had always liked the early mornings at Winterfell, especially when everyone was home. She was calmed by the familiar creaks of the great house, light winds rustling through open windows, and old wood settling. The North was so much calmer than the South. In the North you could sit on your porch and watch the sun come up before even thinking of the day ahead. In the South everyone had something to do, somewhere to be but the only place Sansa ever needed to be in the North was Winterfell.

She tapped the counter lightly while watching the coffee drip in the pot, before pouring herself a mug and heading to her favorite rocking chair that faced even further north. She was almost done with her coffee when the front door creaked open. Sansa didn’t have to look to know the light pitter patter of Arya. She had been trained of course, to go unnoticed, but perhaps even the Faceless Girl let herself go in Winterfell.

Arya handed Sansa a fresh mug of coffee and settled herself down in the chair next to her sister.

She took a long deep breath followed by a gulp of coffee before talking, “It never really feels quite like summer up here.”

Sansa nodded, “Never. Oh, gods, how I longed for the summer when we were kids. A real summer.”

Ayra smirked over her cup, “A Southern summer.”

“I was an idiot.”

“You were a girl. An idealistic girl but a girl.”

Sansa reached over to pat Arya’s arm lightly, “I’m glad you and Gendry are back together.”

Arya shrugged, “Nobody else would have us. He’s a meathead but he’s my meathead.”

Sansa smiled, “He looks so much like Robert.”

“Just like Jon looks like Father.” Arya laughed, “It’s weird seeing the three of you standing together. It’s like déjà vu.”

“You think I look like Mother?” Sansa took a sip of her coffee to hide the tears forming in her eyes.

“You’re exactly like Mother, not just physically. But you’re strong, Sansa, strong like Father.”

“Strong like you.”

Arya shook her head, “I’m tempestuous. You’re tough.”

“Thank you.” Arya squeezed Sansa’s hand. “And thank you for coming this weekend.”

“I’m glad to be here. I never realize how much I miss it until I’m here.”

“It’s ours and it’ll be ours forever.” Sansa said solemnly.

“You and Jon will stay here, right? You won’t move into Kings Landing again, will you?”

“We haven’t really discussed it, truthfully. I know Jon wouldn’t make me leave but I guess it’d be practical if we kept his flat. Who knows.”

Arya shook her head, “I can’t believe out of everyone in Westeros, it’s Jon Snow who stole Sansa Stark’s heart.”

“He’s a good man.” Sansa smiled, “he’s the kind of man Father would have approved of.”

Arya laughed, “Are you kidding me? If Father had seen the pictures I saw of you two on the internet, he would’ve kicked Jon’s ass all the way back to the Wall.”

Sansa snorted into her coffee, “I’m sorry, I guess?” She shrugged as she lowered her coffee mug.

“It’s whatever. You’ll be good for him. After what happened with Ygritte. He needs someone stable. He needs to be needed.”

Sansa nodded and hoped that her silence showed more than she was letting on.

By the time Rickon and Osha and Shaggy arrived later that morning everyone was out of bed and almost awake and laughing over Meera’s spectacular pancakes.

The day was followed by everyone taking part their favorite Winterfell activities. Sansa was content to sit on the old tire swing and watch as her favorite people enjoyed her favorite place. Bran and Arya gave Meera a guided tour of the godswood and ended up bothering Old Nan for biscuits while Gendry and Osha matched Jon and Rickon in a rousing game of football.

She loved all of them being home, hated how empty the house was most of the time. It was in those moments that Sansa knew her mother and father and Robb weren’t completely gone. She could hear her father’s laugh in Bran’s guffaw and see her mother’s smile on Arya’s face and Rickon, oh Rickon had Robb’s eyes. And Jon was always there and she found it funny that that was a comfort now when it had been such an annoyance for her as a child. Maybe this was meant to happen, Jon who looked so much like her father and she who looked so much like her mother. Maybe Winterfell was meant to belong to them.

Sansa wasn’t expecting the lemon cake that Jon pulled out of nowhere and she couldn’t be bothered to hide her tears when everyone she loved sung Happy Birthday in their different cadences and tunes just like they did when they were kids. Arya always sang faster than everyone while Robb held his notes. Bran always ended like an opera singer and Jon usually got half way through the song before he couldn’t stop laughing. Rickon, oddly enough, was the only one who sung it correctly. However, without Robb, the youngest Stark slowed every line and was the last one singing, just as Robb had always been.

Sansa wiped at her tears before blowing out her candles. She laughed off everyone’s attempts at presenting her with gifts until Arya shoved her down in a chair and made a pile of wrapped boxes in front of her. Her face was bright red but her smile was wide as she opened all of the thoughtful presents. At the bottom of the pile was a small, unmarked square. She unwrapped it decently to find a dusty, velvet box. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw the simple diamond set in the filigree band with a small wolf etched into the side.

When she looked up, Jon was kneeling in front of her with an earnest look on his face. “Sansa, will you marry me?”

She couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything except smile, grab his hand, and nod.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Hey guys! I apologize for the delay. Thanks to everyone for sticking with me! You guys are the best!


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot, that's all mine. Everything else belongs to George R.R. Martin, HBO Universe, and anyone else involved in A Song of Ice and Fire and Game of Thrones. The title comes from the song of the same name by the Mountain Goats.

_“_ _There's bound to be a ghost at the back of your closet_ _, no matter where you live. There'll always be a few things, maybe several things, that you're going to find really difficult to forgive.”-_ _The Mountain Goats_

Sansa had insisted, and Jon was in strong agreement, that the wedding should take place in the winter and in the godswood. It felt as if the rest of the summer and most of the fall flew by as Sansa planned the wedding and Jon packed up his things in King’s Landing and moved his way back into Winterfell.

 

Sam and Gilly had never been able to find a place so Jon bequeathed them his flat with the pretense that if everything ended up going to shit, they had to let him move back in. That was if Dany didn’t have him assassinated for treason first. The planning of the wedding and actually making a life together had sparked an anxiety in Jon he never normally felt. Given his background and social status, he had always sort of accepted that he’d never marry; be one of those bachelor’s who were married to their jobs but now here he was planning a wedding and marriage of convenience and he wasn’t really sure where to go from there.  What would happen after the wedding? Would Dany leave them alone? Probably not.  They’d have to keep the façade up for years and hope, maybe one day that people would believe an amiable divorce.

 

Since Rickon had moved back home in September and Osha had been given Jon’s old bedroom in case she had to stay the night, Sansa had allowed Jon to take over Bran’s old room in the loft between the second and third floors. The old playroom on the first floor had been converted into a bedroom for Bran, Sansa had used his old bedroom mostly for storage. She hadn’t  the heart to really sort through anything but the week before Jon was set to move in the pair of them spent an entire weekend in the room, sorting through boxes. They refused to get rid of anything but instead divided what they found into five separate piles for each of the remaining Starks.

 

When the day finally came and Jon pulled his old pickup truck filled with boxes into the driveway Sansa was waiting on the porch, bouncing from toe to toe.

 

“I have a surprise for you.” She shouted before Jon had shut the  door.

 

“Oh yeah?”

 

“Yeah, it’s important. Your things can wait.”

 

She waited at the top of the steps for him but grabbed his hand when he reached her and drug him inside. She pulled him down to where Ned’s old office had been. The door was closed and Sansa stood in front of it, smiling up at him.

 

“Before I show you, I want to you know that it’s really okay if you don’t like it and everything can be changed.”

 

Jon nodded slowly but didn’t bother hiding his smile, “Okay.”

 

Sansa opened the door but stood aside to allow Jon to walk in. She had repainted the walls the same dark green that Ned had had and as Jon took in the whole room, he noticed the few chairs placed around had been there for ages, newly cleaned and polished, but they were still the one’s he remembered sitting in when Ned had to give him a “talking to” or when he was seeking advice. The difference though, and it took Jon a minute, was the desk and shelves that lined the wall behind it. He recognized them but it took a closer inspection before he really knew them.

 

“These were the Lord Commander’s? Jeor Mormont’s?”

 

Sansa nodded as she walked into the room, “I had to really search for them but they’re it.”

 

Jon was running his hand along the carved bear on the edge of the desk, “Sansa…how did you…”

 

She smiled, “You’re not the only one with Night’s Watch connections.”

 

“He was a good leader.”

 

“You are too.” Jon smiled at her, “Well, anyway, I figured you deserved a proper office since you’re a government official now and this was always where the men of Winterfell did their work. They say The Old Man of the North had it painted completely black.”

 

Jon knew Sansa wasn’t one for physical contact that she wasn’t in control of. She was actually a fairly touchy feely person when she was the one instigating it but he had noticed several times now that she flinched when she wasn’t already expecting contact. He understood, didn’t blame her given everything she had been through, but made sure he kept that in the back of his mind.

 

He reached out slowly, made sure she was aware of his hand, and lightly squeezed her shoulder.

 

“You have no idea what this means to me, Sansa.”

 

“I appreciate everything you’re doing, Jon. For me, for Winterfell.” She grabbed the hand still on her shoulder and squeezed it. “Let’s get you moved in so we can finish the invitations.”

 

Jon wasn’t quite sure what to expect from life at Winterfell. It was more subdued then he assumed. The mornings were the most hectic. He had to leave before Sansa but she was awake long before he was, making sure she looked pristine for the magazine. After his morning run which Ghost and Shaggydog always accompanied him on, he made breakfast for himself and Rickon and caught up on the morning news until Osha came. He hadn’t realized just how much he had missed the youngest Stark until their early morning breakfasts together. Rickon always ate toast with peanut butter and a banana except on Thursdays when he always ate pancakes and they had to be slightly raw in the center and he always asked Jon for the funnies from the paper. Jon chuckled over his coffee mug as Rickon laughed loudly at whatever comic he fancied that day. Some mornings, Rickon would ask him question after question about all manner of things and Jon happily obliged, answering as many as he could.

 

It took him almost an hour to get into the capital but he didn’t mind the drive home. Going from the busy city to the almost wilderness of the north had a calming effect on Jon and by the time he was back at Winterfell, he had left most of the stress as far back as Flea Bottom.

 

At night the three of them, and sometimes Osha or a visiting Bran or Arya, would sit around the table and have dinner . Jon was used to silence from being alone for so long but Rickon liked to talk about his day and, if asked, Sansa almost sounded like her old self, gushing over her day’s work. Even Jon, although Rickon had said his job was obviously the most boring, would tell them anecdotes from the office.

 

One weekend in the fall, Arya and Gendry invited the three of them down to Braavos and Jon relished in the drive, much like the ones he and Sansa had had as children. Bran always came home for a day or two whenever he needed to do laundry and Jon loved having someone to watch football with on Sunday afternoons. It was so different than the Winterfell he knew but it was just as good and something Jon didn't realize he needed.

 

With the impending wedding, Sansa always seemed stressed. Jon really had no opinion on anything, rationalizing that Sansa finally deserved the wedding she wanted, but every once in a while she would knock on the office door to show him some kind of flower or pass him a fabric swatch across the dinner table.

 

Their original plan had been a small affair; mostly family and a few select friends but, of course, Daenerys had to be invited and that sparked the debate over keeping it small or giving up and inviting all of Westeros and most of Dorne. Tyrion, who had come up to Winterfell to go over a decree with Jon one Saturday afternoon, had suggested they could keep it small if they hired a photographer who would possibly (probably) leak the pictures. Pycelle was the name of the man who, according to Tyrion, would be perfect for the job. While normally, this was the last thing that one would want, leaked pictures to solidify their marriage to the world without losing the intimacy of the event, but it seemed perfect for what they needed. 

Before they knew it everything was planned and it was a week before their wedding. Jon had been working in Ned’s (he still couldn’t refer to it as his) office late into the night when Sansa’s small knock sounded on his door.

 

“You can come in.” He raised his voice slightly.

 

Sansa snuck in slowly and closed the door behind her. She was dressed in an old Eyrie University t-shirt and threadbare black sweat pants. The cold never seemed to bother Sansa. Jon was always surprised, given how she had longed to be a Southern lady when they were children, but he noticed the cold seemed to pump life in her veins. She was more vibrant in the Winter months; her smile wider and her hair redder. She would walk the grounds after Rickon had gone to sleep, sniffing at the air and admiring the stars. She usually went alone but sometimes she invited Jon along. She never said much, just floated through the grounds like some ethereal being. 

 

That night her hair was in a haphazard bun that looked as if she had been tossing and turning in her bed and her face was serious as she took a seat in one of the big arm chairs and curled her legs under herself. “I need to ask you something.”

 

“Is everything all right?” He asked, taking off his glasses and resting his elbows on the desk.

 

“Yes but this is important, to me anyway, and I need you to answer and to be honest. Okay?”

 

Jon nodded slowly, “Okay.”

 

“Who is Ygritte?”

 

“Sansa, I told you, it’s not a big deal.”

 

“But it is, Jon. It must be because you won’t tell me. And I need to know. You don’t understand. I cannot trust anyone and I want to trust you. I’m so afraid to let my guard down and this Ygritte thing has been eating at me for months because I want to believe that it isn’t a big deal but I know better and so do you.”

 

Jon sighed and ran a hand over his face and then through his hair. “She was a wildling from north of the Wall.” He took a sip of the cold coffee he had previously forgotten about, “I was captured by the Free Folk as part of a covert mission and Ygritte was the one who discovered me.” He smiled, “She was wild, that’s for sure. Feisty and strong. The Free Folk used to say she was lucky because she had been ‘kissed by fire.’”

 

“What does that mean?” Sansa had pulled her chair closer to Jon’s desk.

 

He laughed, “She had red hair. Bright, like yours.” He cleared his throat and took another sip of his coffee, “Anyway, we got separated from the group we were traveling with for a few days but she ended up presenting me to Mance Rayder, which was my in. With me captive, the Free Folk decided to march on the wall. Mance had planned on killing me eventually but Ygritte lied, told Mance we were together, that I was one of them.”

 

He laughed again, “I feel in love right there. She was a warrior, a valkyrie. The march on the Wall was hard but we stayed together and then it grew. Sansa, I loved her with everything I had. They ended up finding another Brother and I was ordered to kill him to prove my loyalties. I couldn’t do it. I knew him; we had gone to Ranger school together. I taught him how to shoot. Ygritte killed him. No second thought. I knew they were going to kill me. She loved me, I know she did, but her loyalties were to her people and she was always a solider first. I managed to get away but not before she shot me.” He pointed to his shoulder, “That’s what that scar’s from. And there’s one on my leg.”

 

He took another sip of his coffee, “I made it back to Castle Black and the Free Folk weren’t long after me but I was loyal to my men too and we were able to intercept them. She was killed in the battle, I watched it happen. I could’ve stopped it, saved her but I was a Black Brother and my life was in their debt.” Jon chuckled darkly, “The irony is, of course, that they voted me a traitor, only a year later, and took their stabs at me.”

 

“But,” she said quietly, “You didn’t betray them. You let the woman you loved get killed in the name of the Brotherhood. They voted you Lord Commander!”

 

Jon walked around his desk and sat in the chair next to Sansa’s. “It was more to it than that. I heard about you marrying Bolton and was privately planning a small party to come down and get you. I knew you hadn’t married him on your own accord, he's a son of a bitch and I knew you wouldn't be fooled by that--"

"I was fooled by Joffrey." Sansa cut in.

"Everyone was fooled by Joffrey, at first at least. But Bolton's been a bastard forever. I didn’t know how to get in contact with Arya and rumors were still circulating about Rickon and Bran disappearing. Who knew what Ramsey Bolton had waiting here? Bowen Marsh disagreed with pretty much everything I was doing; felt that he was the rightful Lord Commander, felt that I was too sympathetic towards the Free Folk and enough people agreed with him. Stannis Baratheon and his people happened to be passing through the castle at the right time and Melisandre, you know his new wife, actually happens to be magic with stitches. He exercised his power and placed me back in the Lord Commander position but at that point I was ready to leave and then you called and I knew I had to.”

 

Sansa reached out and touched his cheek lightly, “I’m sorry, Jon. I’m sorry you lost her. I’m sorry you lost the Brotherhood.”

 

Jon smiled into her touch, “For some reason, you and I had to suffer, but, by the gods, Sansa, I fucking hope it’s over.”

 

She pulled her hand away and wiped at the small tear in her eye, “We’re right this time. We have to be.”

 

Jon reached across and squeezed her knee, “We better be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Plugging along. Thank you all so much for the encouragement! Shoutout to Wikipedia for all their paraphrasing.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot, that's all mine. Everything else belongs to George R.R. Martin, HBO Universe, and anyone else involved in A Song of Ice and Fire and Game of Thrones. The title comes from the song of the same name by the Mountain Goats.

 

_“We are strong. We are faithful. We are guardians of a rare thing. We pay close, careful attention to the news the morning air brings. We show great loyalty to the hard times we've been through.” – The Mountain Goats_

The day of the wedding, Winterfell was a hubbub of pandemonium. Sansa had locked herself in her room early on, only allowing her siblings to enter. Arya had taken over order giving and was in her element directing caterers and florists and bakers. Jon tried to help as best he could but Arya kept shuffling him out of places so he locked himself in his office and paced for most of the morning.

He had taken to counting his steps when a knock sounded on his door. He opened it with a shock and was absolutely floored at the person standing on the other side.

Theon Greyjoy looked almost nothing like the boy Jon had grown up with. The man before him was wearied, his fair hair overgrown and with a few days stubble on his chin. He was tall now, taller than Jon, but skinnier than he ever had been. He was dressed in well fitting, clean clothes but held a cane close to his side. He jumped slightly when Jon’s eyes met his.

“Sansa invited me.” Theon said with a smile.

“I’m sure she has her reasons.” Jon turned and made to close the door but Theon put his weight against it.

“I wanted to speak to you.” He looked at Jon’s face but couldn’t hold eye contact with me.

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“Please, Jon.”

Jon had always remembered Theon to be full of bravado despite his station in life. As a small boy he had been taken in by Ned, just as Jon had been, because Ned had felt he could’ve provided Theon with a better life. And he had had a better life, much better than what being a Greyjoy would’ve provided but he always wanted and wanted until finally he took. He had been a snotty child, rude to Jon more often than not, but they had also shared something. They both knew what it was like to be unwanted, knew what it was like to be an outsider. And sometimes, they leant on each other.

Jon was never really sure how Theon had gotten in contact with the Bolton’s. After the accident, he had gone back to his father and that was the last Jon had seen of him. Rumor has it that his father, as power hungry as ever, had pushed Theon by telling him tales that he was the rightful heir to Winterfell. He came with men, followed by the Boltons. Bran and Rickon ran away. Theon faked their deaths but Sansa was never lucky.

Jon did know the aftermath. He knew about the blood and the bruises and Sansa rocking in his arms, mumbling about how Theon got away.

Jon walked behind the desk and motioned for Theon to take the chair in front of it.

“It looks nice in here. Hard to not think about Old Ned.” Theon said as he sat down.

Jon narrowed his eyes, “What do you want, Theon?”

Theon sighed, finally looked Jon in the eye, then startled and looked at the floor. “We were going to run away. We were going to run to you at the Wall. He was out and we packed and rushed and we were all the way by Old Nan’s house when he came home.” Theon shook lightly in his chair, “She’s strong, you know. A hell of a lot stronger than me. I tried to fight him but I was weak then, weaker than I am now, and she told me to run. She told me she could handle it. I know it’s no excuse but he tortured both of us. I was never as brave as you or Robb and I waited too long, was too afraid of him.”

“You should’ve tried.”

Then nodded, “Yes, I should have. I should have protected her and I should have protected Bran and Rickon. I wasn’t going to come today. Almost didn’t, but she invited me. I loved her, Jon, forever. And I thought maybe one day, foolishly, she’d love me back. Even when I took this place I thought, maybe, she’d learn to.” He chuckled darkly, “I’m an idiot. When everything started with Ramsey all I could think was ‘What would Robb do?’ ‘What would Jon do?’ Robb was going to rule Westeros and you were going to head the Night’s Watch and what was I doing? I was Ramsey’s dog and I did nothing. Anyway, this isn’t about me. This is about her. She has a light in her that so many have tried to put out. I know you won’t.”

Jon cleared his throat; “I’d do everything in my power to make her safe.”

“I know but I had to make sure.” Theon stood and put his hand out for Jon to shake, “Thank you.”

Jon held the bony hand in his own and tried to stay angry at Theon but he couldn’t. He didn't know how to react to Theon's confession, truthfully. He believed him and he was still angry, so angry at Theon for never living up to his own false talk but he knew, deep down, that he pitied him. “You’ll stay for everything, won’t you?”

“If you’ll have me.”

 “We will.”

An hour later, Sam was knocking on the office door and telling him it was time. The walk into the godswood was longer than Jon remembered but he trudged through the snow and tried to keep his shoulders straight. Jon stood by the weirwood tree, attempting to smile at the small group of people gathered around. Then before he knew it, the crowd parted and Sansa was walking towards him. Her cloak was old and Tully blue, he could have sworn he had seen it before, but it bore the Stark house sigil. She looked beautiful, her red hair was wild and flowing in the winter winds and Rickon looked as handsome as ever with his arm locked in hers and leading her down the aisle. They had shoved the boy in a suit and attempted to tame his wild hair that resulted in a strange cowlick. He waved at Jon as they walked towards him and Jon smiled genuinely for the first time that entire morning.

The ceremony was simple and traditional and Jon felt as if it really was just them and the weirwood, honoring the Old Gods the same way Ned and Cat had in that same spot almost thirty years before. Jon was not a superstitious man but he felt, that day, that Cat and Ned and Robb were there with them in the rustle of the trees and the crunch of the snow and the howling of the wolves. Sansa held his hand in hers and smiled a watery smile when they rose and turned to their guests. Maybe she had felt them too.

Jon wasn’t quite sure how to feel the rest of the day. After everything that had happened with Ygritte, he had always assumed he’d never really find anyone. Maybe he’d date or have a couple one-night stands but he couldn’t picture himself actually marrying anyone but her. And here he was, married to Sansa Stark. Sansa Stark, the little girl who too was kissed by fire. Maybe the gods were trying to tell him something.

The remainder of their wedding day passed in a fairly casual manner. Both Sansa and Jon had stated emphatically that they would be opting out of the rest of the traditional ceremonies. They had honored the most important one and that was all that mattered.

The grounds of Winterfell had been set up with small fires and small tables. Jon and Sansa sat together, holding hands for everyone’s benefit and observed the world around them. Once Arya had finally relaxed she spent most of the evening dancing with Gendry. Gilly had asked Rickon to dance while Sam chatted politely and nervously with Daenerys. Tyrion and Bran were in a rousing discussion of something Jon couldn’t quite catch while Osha made eyes at Willas Tyrell. They had cut their list by dozens but it still seemed as if every family in Westerns was at their wedding. Jon couldn't help but notice how everyone at their wedding had been against one another at some point in their lives but now they came come and fraternized and actually enjoyed themselves. He scanned the crowed and found Lannisters sitting with Martells and Theon actually making Brienne laugh and Arya introducing Meera to Stannis.

It still seemed strange to Jon to lie to all of these people but it was to protect what was Sansa’s, what was theirs now.

Sometime well after midnight, the newlyweds felt it best to retire. Several people had opted to stay at Winterfell with a few staking claim on the small tenant houses left empty since Theon’s takeover. The stragglers that were left “oooh’d” and “awww’d” as they made their way up the steps into Sansa’s bedroom.

“Oh gods, I’m going to kill her.” Sansa said when she opened the door to her room.

“Huh?” Jon asked through a yawn, looking over her shoulder.

Arya had some how managed to sneak into Sansa’s room and decorate it for the evening. Something made of black lace that Jon couldn’t get a look at before Sansa swept it up was draped over the bed where Arya had flung rose petals and condoms. Jon couldn’t stop his laughter as he helped Sansa clear away the mess.

“I need you to help me with my dress.” She asked with a hint of timidity he hadn’t heard from her in so long.

“Yeah, of course.”

She had taken her cloak off and placed it on the bed before turning her back to him and lifting her hair.

Jon noticed, in the most clichéd thought, that his hands looked so rough pulling down the delicate zipper of the delicate lace dress. He tried his best not to touch her and finally his task was done. He turned from her and undid his bowtie, listening to the sounds of the dress falling to the floor and her putting on the leggings and t-shirt she always slept in. She made her way to the bathroom and left him to get undressed. When she finally emerged, he was laying in her bed looking at an old book he had plucked from her bookshelves. She settled in next to him on her side.

“That’s one of Robb’s.”

Jon nodded, “I remember him reading this. For someone who hated his studies he sure did read often.”

“I think he wanted to fool everyone. He didn’t want people to think he was as smart as he was.”

“Always ahead of the game.” Jon chuckled and sat the book on the bedside table.

“I felt them today, in the godswood.”

“I did too. In the wind and the snow.”

“Do you think… do you think they would’ve approved?”

“Your dad would’ve given me a right talking to. Well, maybe your mum with Ned standing solemnly behind her nodding his head.”

Sansa laughed, “Definitely Mother.”

“So what now, Sansa?”

“We go on as we have. We’re obviously believable. Rickon lives with us and he hasn’t suspected anything.”

“That’s because we wait until he’s in bed to part ways and I’m up so early he never catches on that we don’t actually sleep together.”

“They’ll want children you know.”

“Not yet and when the time comes, can’t we just say we’re barren. We have Rickon. We don’t need another child.”

“Everyone knows I’m not barren. Roose Bolton had me tested to make sure I’d give Ramsey heirs…”

“They what?!? That’s despicable. What gives them the right to do that to you?!”

“It’s over and done with now and I’m as fertile as my lady Mother, apparently, and you can bet they’ll come for you just to make sure. You’ve got royal blood, Jon. You’re supposed to have children. It’s your duty.”

“I’m not going to be king.”

“I know but it still gives the people hope.”

“Well, we don’t have to have a baby tomorrow. We’ve got at least a year to figure that out.”

“We’ll work it out. Let’s just enjoy our wedding night. You know, this is probably my favorite wedding.”

“That you’ve been to?”

Sansa laughed, “No, that I’ve had.”

“I’m glad you finally got a proper wedding.”

“You might be my favorite husband.”

“Don’t let Tyrion hear you say that.”

“They’ll probably write in the papers tomorrow that you’ve been poisoned so I can run away with Tyrion.”

Jon laughed, “He’ll hang the headline up in his office.”

“I think he keeps a scrapbook.”

“He’s a good man and a good ally.”

“He was good to me, still is. He gave us a very generous gift, you know?”

“Did he?”

Jon saw Sansa nod in the moon light, he red hair shining. “He paid the rest of Bran’s tuition.”

“What? That’s unbelievable.”

“He said as new parents we shouldn’t have to be worrying about college already.”

“See, even he thinks we have enough children.”

As if on queue there was a small knock at the door. Jon rose and slowly opened the door. Rickon, still not quiet as tall as Bran had been before the accident, was standing in the hallway, eyes red with tears.

Jon stooped to be eye level with him and lightly grasped his shoulder. “What’s going on, Ric?”

“I can hear the ghosts. They won’t let me sleep.”

Jon felt the door open wider and then Sansa was crouched down next to him. Rickon reached up and ran his hand down her cheek.

“Do you want to stay with us?” Sansa asked, her voice almost identical to Cat’s.

Rickon nodded and wiped at his eyes. Sansa grabbed his other hand and led him into the room, holding up the covers of the bed for him. He climbed up and burrowed in deep in the middle of the bed with Jon and Sansa resuming their places on either side of him.

“I get so confused.” Rickon whispered in the dark.

“What confuses you?” Jon asked.

“I know… I know Mother and Father are dead. I don’t remember, all I remember is Shaggy howling and Sansa crying and Arya running.” He sniffled, “I know they’re ghosts here but you,” he poked Sansa in the arm, “you’re my mother because you have red hair and soft eyes and you hum when you pick flowers and you,” he turned he poked Jon in the forehead, “you’re my father because you make me pancakes and we play football and you check my homework.”

“Oh, Rickon, we aren’t…” Sansa started but Rickon held his finger to her lips.

“I know my brain doesn’t work the way it’s supposed to. I know because of the woods and the snow and running away with Osha and Bran. Away from Theon but that’s what I think and that’s what I see.”

“Rickon, we love you…” Jon started but Rickon turned to face him.

“I don’t want to talk anymore.”

“Okay.” Jon and Sansa said in unison.

Rickon nestled deeper into the covers and the three of them finally fell asleep with Rickon’s head on Jon’s chest and Rickon’s hand tangled with Sansa’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Thanks to http://nobodysuspectsthebutterfly.tumblr.com for the information on weddings in the North. I’m still playing around with Rickon’s age so bear with me and I’m open to any suggestions there.

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: So the “fake relationship” trope is so clichéd but its one of my favorites and it had to happen. The plot begins about a year after the current Game of Thrones story line but I will also try and incorporate some of the book components as well. The characters have been aged up making them in their twenties but Rickon will be a few years younger to keep with the plot. Questions and comments are always welcome. Thanks for reading!


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